The Aurora Prophecy
by FsDxRAGE
Summary: Ten years after the events of "Deception", the Heiko family finds themselves taking surreptitious refuge on the planet Bekenstein, hiding from forces much larger than themselves. Gia Heiko, an eighteen year old quarian girl, has a bizarre dream that snaps something deep in the government, spilling the zeal of a guileful politician who unleashes a living nightmare upon the family.
1. The Aurora Prophecy - Prologue

**My new story/novel/fanfiction, _The Aurora Prophecy_, is now available to read after one and a half years of working on this immense project. _The Aurora Prophecy _is the sequel to _Deception_, a piece I wrote back in the summer of 2010 and it would be preferable to read that first since it has direct tie-ins. I have partnered with a truly talented artist named Trey McNair "modsoft" in an effort to bring this story to life with artwork to go along with each chapter released weekly, much like RiptideX1090 and Lividity Jones' _Reckoning_. Anyways, for those of you that like to read fanfiction _and _look at Mass Effect fan artwork, go ahead and check out _The Aurora Prophecy_in my blog (subscribe to get updates) on the BSN where you will find links to the art and the story! Chapters will be released weekly since the entire story is done. **

**I would totally link you the blog from the BSN to here (that is where you will find the fantastic artwork), but fanfiction won't allow that, so just go to the _BioWare Social Network - Blogs - search - copy/paste: Deception & The Aurora Prophecy_, or go to my profile page on fanfiction and I have it linked there.**

******I hope you all enjoy our labor of love!**

**The Aurora Prophecy - Prologue  
**

_"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." _Edgar Allan Poe_

What is pain?

Is it felt more through emotions—flashbacks and dreams, or does it hit harder through your physical form?

Doctor Julia Liebermann and her husband, Harris Liebermann, also a doctor, in the field of neurology instead of psychology, walked into an elevator. Julia's thoughts were trained on other, more pressing issues than her husband. She let her long silver hair unravel out of the red hat perched proudly on her head after returning home from a Sunday dinner party hosted by one of Julia's long time friends. New York City's skylight came into view through the window as the elevator stretched into the inky black sky, wishing to scoop handfuls of stars away from the vast cosmic ocean. Harris, through his wrinkles, stared at the love of his life. His eyes, like two robin eggs, sat burrowed in a nest of gray and black hair that stared back at Julia's dark chocolate ones. She knew he was going to say something witty or snarky that was going to shatter the blissful silence Julia relished around her husband.

"I really hate those people—your friends."

Julia tossed her head back and said, "Oh Harris, do you _really _have to follow the 'grumpy-old-mad-scientist' cliché society has bestowed upon the men of your age and intellect?"

Harris rolled down the sleeve of his yellow and white striped button up, long-sleeved shirt. The air-conditioning in the elevator tickled his sweat-freckled arms. Harris hated the summer months.

"I try not to be cliché or anything, Julia, but I _cannot_ stand being around people who watch reality vids like zealots read The Holy Bible. I do not care who the bachelorette chose to marry, nor do I care about asteroid miners who cannot speak proper English. We celebrate stupidity with the vids—we let celebrities make millions of credits by acting like utter _imbeciles _in front of a camera." Harris inhaled a cubic meter of air and clasped Julia's hand lovingly. "You, my darling, make stupid friends who I cannot be bothered with."

Harris finished with a wide smile that made the corners of his eyes taper, giving him a smug appearance. Luckily for him, Julia recognized this or he would have taken a high velocity hand to the face.

"It is hard living with an elitist. I am being social. Most people our age are not as social as us, so you should be thankful. By the way, I recognize that my friends are not the sharpest tools in the shed—rather, to be fair, they are blunt instruments at the top of the economic food chain."

"And we can see their inadequate work being demonstrated."

"You and I are near the top of the food chain, so don't be_ too_ smug," Julia said, lightly punching Harris in the arm.

"We are sharpened, precise predators, you and I. Those people at that dinner party were mice. We, my darling, are hawks."

"Yeah, well...

"You agree with me. Admit it."

"Go away."

Harris chuckled, his laughter crackling like gravel under a combat boot. He noted how Julia's red stained lips snaked into cherry hot razors against her pale skin. Fifty years of marriage and both could read each other like an open book.

Both doctors averted their eyes from each other—hand in hand—and became transfixed on the thousands of yellow lights painted onto the black canvas of New York City as air cars soared above the cityscape. It was their home. Their base of operations. Both Julia and Harris' line of work lifted them onto pedestals to where they could look Sigmund Freud, Albert Einstein, the Wright brothers, Stephen Hawking, and Emily Dickinson straight in the eye. Both were of the most important and influential people in the history of the galaxy. Much like Emily Dickinson, their work would not become noted by the public as revolutionary until _after_ their deaths. To the military, their assets were of the utmost importance. The most distinguished generals, warriors, and politicians basked in their shadows of importance and no one knew it, except for a select few.

Deep down inside, Harris' guts were squirming—his intestines in a death match. He felt as if a mass of writhing constrictors dwelled in his stomach. The elevator music was unnerving. The saxophone and the strong male singer's voice would usually soothe the most furrowed brow, but this time it felt like it was spurring something onwards. His evolutionary sixth-sense was telling him he was in danger. The lyrics of the song sang about heartbreak, shattered love, and dreams full of black suits and netted veils. Other than being a neurologist and the vice-president of a small, but influential and dangerous group, he was a symbologist and a bit of a literary dissector. His use of a etymological scalpel came in handy on most of the days he worked.

"Harris, what's wrong?"

Harris noticed the grip on his wife's hand had tightened like an impending noose around his own neck.

"I am just thinking about what I saw last night."

"It's nothing but a nightmare. Even though you are gifted, you are still human. Not everything that comes into that thick skull of yours is worth documenting."

Harris sighed and rubbed his forehead—the calcium bulkhead that encased the most important and expensive weapon in the galaxy.

The elevator ceased moving and _binged_ open. They owned a penthouse suite on top of the most prodigious housing complex in the city. A brushed aluminum door stuffed with Kevlar sat mere meters away from the elevator where an armed guard, by the name of Nate, stood sentinel. The Liebermanns had become close friends with the guard and even invited him inside for a couple of dinners. The military provided the couple with Nate as insurance to their property.

"Good evening, Doctor and Doctor Liebermann. Did you have a nice night out?" Nate asked, taking a hand off his holstered pistol.

"We went to the zoo and saw some chimps dressed in expensive, tailored clothes."

"Sorry, Nate." Julia covered Harris' mouth with her scarf. "Ignore the zoo-keeper. He's in a bad mood."

"Will do, ma'am."

"Do you need some food or an energy drink, my darling?"

"No, ma'am." Nate held up a plastic bag containing a twelve-inch sub. "I am locked and loaded for the night."

"Well if you need anything, buzz the doorbell three times."

"Will do, ma'am."

"Come on, Julia. Stop flirting with the guard," mumbled Harris, who gave the security scanner his finger-print and an ocular scan. The metal door snapped open.

"Have a goodnight, Nate. We will see you in the morning when we head off to work."

"Night, ma'am."

Harris Liebermann shut the door and the lights to their home swelled to life. The penthouse was swaddled with high-sheen metal, blonde wood, and burled polished metal which was once the cold hearts of asteroids.

"I need a scotch," grumbled Harris. "And I need to release the contents of my bladder."

"You could have spared me the details," groaned Julia as she wrestled her scarf over a peg jutting from the wall. "I will pour you a scotch, honey."

Harris gave a wave of gratitude before disappearing into the master bathroom to the left of where they were standing. Julia flicked off her red high heels and walked towards the wet bar next to the television. She plucked three ice cubes from a refrigerated bucket with tongs and plopped the flawless ice into two short crystal glasses and filled both of them with two glugs of the one-hundred year old scotch that they had been working on for the past couple of months. Julia dropped herself onto the white, sleek short-backed sofa and rubbed her aching feet. She hated high heels with a burning passion.

"Honey, hurry up. Your ice is weakening your scotch!"

Julia swirled her alcohol and gently smelled the fumes. Burnt oak barrels and musty seaweed assaulted her nose. She sipped the fire and threw her head back, relieved to have left the company of those suited chimps. She really hated her friends and loathed admitting it to her husband as she likes to clash with him on certain subjects for her own amusement. Next time she goes, Julia will instead bring two metal cymbals for them to smash together instead of a nice bottle of _sauvignon blanc_. They were only good for throwing parties that rivaled Jay Gatsby's but with less sophistication.

Julia felt someone snap a finger next to her left ear. Thinking it was Harris keeping her from dozing off, Julia grinned and turned around meeting only empty space. Puzzled, she turned her head back towards the window yielding a panoramic view of New York City. Sure this place was expensive, but the view they paid for was worth...

"What in the world is that?"

Julia stood from the sofa, her eyes fervently searching for an explainable answer to the thick spider web hanging right in the center of the window that was not there a second ago. With an outstretched hand, she touched the web on the window and felt a hot jet of air whistling through a small hole in the center of the spider web. Like a freight train traveling at the speed of sound, it hit her: the sound had been made by a bullet a moment ago and the snapping noise was a round barely missing her head—breaking the sound barrier. Behind her, Julia heard the door open. Three men in black suits walked through the threshold, all of them professionally wielding handguns—fingers convolved around the triggers. Harris kept a pistol in the kitchen drawer, next to the silverware. Julia hated it being there and thought her husband as a paranoid lunatic for stashing it in the same place they eat and prepared their food. Right now though, she understood why he kept there. Frantically, her mind when through dozens of scenarios.

_ Why are these men here?_

_ Who are these men?_

_ What are they doing?_

_ How did they get in here?_

_ Why do they have their guns upholstered?_

_ Are they here to save me?_

_ Are they here to hurt me?_

Julia's eyes spotted the answer to her question. Behind the black legion of polished leather shoes, red blood trailed in their wake. Nate's corpse could be seen laying in the small hallway—the back of his head a basted crimson cavity weeping extensive amounts of blood onto the marble flooring where the intruder's shoes had acted as paintbrushes, the soles composing a gruesome mosaic. The leader of the pack flicked Nate's thumb into the trashcan next to the island in the kitchen, disposing it after using his thumbprint to open the door. She shied her attention away from their bodyguard's cadaver, knowing full well they must have done the same thing to his eye.

Julia dropped her scotch and screamed, "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" loud enough so that Harris could hear her cries of warning.

"Doctor Liebermann," said the man that had cut off Nate's poor thumb. "You may call me Black Widow. These are my friends: Brown Recluse and Funnel Web. If you will, I would like to talk to you. Now, could you please take a seat?" asked Black Widow with a charismatic smile and a tender voice.

Julia looked into what appeared to be the leader's face. His icy blue eyes pierced hers. They were so intense, it reminded Julia of a cat's _tapeta lucida_ when caught in a beam of concentrated light.

"Why are you named after spiders?" asked Julia while taking a seat. She found herself very calm and never realized she had the courage to ask such a question to Death himself.

"We do not want to give out our real names, now would we?" he responded like he was talking to a child. Not giving out their real names was important. It meant they were here to do no bodily harm to her.

Julia eyed Nate and swallowed hard.

"I see you dropped your drink," continued the leader. "May I pour you another? I didn't mean to startle you."

Julia looked to her feet noticing her scotch had wet the floor and the crystal glass was shattered, much like the foundations of her life that had been sturdy up until this very moment.

Now finding herself angry, she blurted out, "Executing my guard—my _friend_, and having the bullet pass through the wall and almost hitting _me _in the head isn't very subtle."

"I admire your wit. Now, let me pour you another glass, please."

"I can pour another for myself," she said quickly, wanting to hide Harris' glass that was still on the wet bar.

"No need for that. Consider me company, this is your house. I do not want you to put in more effort than you already have and trust me, you are going to need your energy. Now please, sit."

The smile on his face reminded her of a child's, but his eyes were that of chilled stone chiseled by a psychopathic killer in the sound-proof basement of their home.

"Yes sir," Julia said.

The man walked over to the wet bar and poured two glasses—one for himself and one for Julia. Mrs. Liebermann turned around to study Brown Recluse and Funnel Web. Their faces were stoic behind the aviator sunglasses. They were cliché bad guys. Although they were laughable at best in the movies, up close, they were ominous—broad shouldered, sharply angled chins, and capable of taking life. One kicked Nate's limp arm out of the way and shut the door. Julia and Harris were locked in with the real-life predators. Now _she _felt like the mouse and their company were the hawks trained by Mongolian hunters of which were used to kill the wolves of Siberia.

"What do you want from me?" asked Julia, becoming nervous. "And how did you get past all of the security protocol? You had special access to the elevator up here. You were able to make it past the security downstairs. Who, exactly, are you three?"

The leader sat on the sofa next to Julia and handed her a glass of scotch tenderly.

Ignoring the last part of her question, he said, "It is not me that wants something from you, rather the government," he sighed, almost sadly. He took a sip of scotch and hissed. "Good stuff."

"Why did you kill Nate?"

"Nate? Was that his name?" the leader asked, pivoting in his seat to stare at the front door.

"Yes. He was a good person. Why did you kill him?"

"He was in my way," the leader stated matter-of-factly. "A mere obstacle. I also needed his eye and thumb. He was being... _restless_."

"You're a sick bastard."

Black Widow leaned forward, the scotch on his breath batting at Julia's face.

"My parents abused me as a child. You know how that goes. People who are abused as children grow up to be... a bit rotten in the head. I tortured animals as a kid. I remember catching a little bird once—a _martinet noir_ we called them in Paris, more commonly known as a swift. Well, I caught it in a trap I made. It was a beautiful male with rich chocolate feathers, much like your eyes, Julia." The Black Widow made hand gestures to show his enthusiasm about this animal. "I fished an empty olive jar out of the recycle bin behind my house, put the bird in there, filled it with water, and buried it in the ground. I waited a month to take out this specimen I had preserved in the water. I checked off the days on my calendar with the utmost pride and anticipation until I hit the thirty day mark. I unburied the bird-"

"Stop it!"

"What, do you not like my story, Julia?"

"I grew up with canaries."

"Ah, I see. Torturing birds is a sensitive subject for you." The leader's eyes were drowned in sadness and sorrow. "I didn't mean to offend you, Julia."

The Black Widow put a hand on her leg. It was cold to the touch. The leader stood, gently cupping his perfectly tanned hand. Julia could have sworn he was a supermodel. His blond hair was combed perfectly to one side and he looked beautiful, even to men's standards. If she were to pass him on the street, she wouldn't have given him a second thought—would have never known what he was capable of.

"You are a scientist, Julia. You deal with the science of dreams, I know this. Scientists like straight up facts, you enjoy blunt answers—no nonsense, no magic, no nothing, yes?"

Through a quivery voice, Julia, as strongly as possible, said, "Yes."

She wondered where Harris had gone—if he was going to save her. Maybe she could get to the gun in the silverware cabinet.

"I am here to kill you and your husband."

Julia's vision flashed white and her skin became prickly and hot. Her breath was sucked from every bud of alveoli.

"Why?"

"Your husband has seen something that should not have been seen."

"What... did he see?" Julia asked.

"I believe he spoke of a dream, possibly a nightmare he had?"

"Yes, he did."

"Speaking of which, where is he right now? Where is your beloved husband?"

The leader had a frown on his face and ran a finger along the rim of his glass.

Julia noticed a wedding ring strapped around his ring finger. Julia feared for his wife.

"He is at the lab, working on his work."

"Why then is there a second glass of scotch already poured before I walked into your home?"

"I..."

"_No no no_, the first thing you should know about me is that I do not like being lied to. I hate being lied to. As a child, all I was fed were lies," he said in a low voice, like a therapist talking to a patient. "If he were at his office, or to put in better terms, his lab, he would have been gunned down by my acquaintances and I a few hours ago. Your cell has come to an end. I have seen what your husband has seen. This dream that he spoke of was experienced by every single Dreamcatcher; all ten of them. You know how it is—dreams are like a web." He pointed at the cracked glass sprawled out in the center of the window. " I am the spider of this particular web—the predator who hunts and eats weaker prey." He leaned in and smiled. "You two, search the house," the leader said, pointing his scotch towards the bedroom. The Black Widow softly laid his pistol on one of the sofa's red pillows.

"If you are going to kill me, then at least tell me who you are," said Julia in defeat.

"_Ah,_ a true scientist. They always want the answers, and as you know, hard to get answers deserve lots of effort." The Black Widow tapped a finger on his chin and closed his eyes in thought. He threw his leg over a knee and Julia watched his foot swing madly to a tune only played in his head. "I guess you deserve the right hand side of this puzzling equation. Julia, I am a Dreamcatcher's nightmare. In your line of work, you call us Dream Spiders, or S.P.I. . We are the government's insurance to their little freak show that you two run. We are the unknown, unwanted shepherds who keep your flock tamed, and if need be, eradicate the herd if a parasite infects every member."

"Black Widow, Harris Liebermann is not here," said one of the assailants.

"I trust your judgment, Brown Recluse," said the leader who stood up. Funnel Web, Black Widow's accomplice, thumbed the safety off his handgun.

"He is only one man and there are the other three we need to find. The fourth, well we need to figure out who and where he is," said the Black Widow. Julia was at a loss. Her mind was spinning so fast she wanted to puke.

_ Where had Harris gone?_

_ Does he know more than me?_

"Julia, I really hate to do this," said the leader. Julia looked up from her glass of scotch to meet the cyclopean stare of a muzzle from the leader's pistol. "You too know the secret we are trying to hide—the government is trying to hide. You cannot walk out of this apartment, rather we will have the courtesy of walking you out in a body bag."

"F-for my family's sake, shoot me in the chest, I would like to have an open casket. My children would like to see me one last time."

The leader's eyes, without wavering or showing a single sign of emotion except for inconvenience, lowered his pistol to Julia's throbbing heart.

"Any last words?" he asked Julia.

"I want to spare the poor bastard who dresses my body. It is already an inconvenience that he will have to undress me and pump me full of preservatives. My old body would have made him sick with a hole in my head," she chuckled, never believing she had this sort of bravery.

With a smile over what Julia had said, the leader shot her in the chest, as per request. A pink cloud exploded from her back, airbrushing the white cushions on the couch. A rose bud blossomed over her heart as she fell backwards, into a sleeping position on the sofa.

The leader spoke into his microphone to a government official: "Julia Liebermann has been terminated. Harris Liebermann is nowhere to be found. We still have three others to kill, along with the unknown fourth. Positions are unknown. Doctor Liebermann must have had help with hiding the others. Who it is helping him is still unknown."

The female voice on the other line responded, "Very well. You have forty-eight hours to get the job done before Humpty Dumpty takes a great fall. Until then, your mission is completed. I will send out warnings to certain Spectres to keep a watchful eye on this situation." The female voice was as cold as the vacuum of space. "Brown Recluse, can you respond?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"Kill the Black Widow."

To the leader's surprise, he felt the icy lips of a pistol kiss the back of his neck followed by a tongue of flame that_ ripped _into his lower skull. He coughed a fountain of blood and slumped foreword.

"Is he dead?" asked the government official.

"Roger that."

"He was too dangerous. Did he say he could dream?"

"Yes, he did and ma'am, it is not a '_he_'."


	2. Chapter One - Falling Sparks

**The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter One - Falling Sparks**

Milgrom Interstellar Spaceport on the planet Bekenstein had been devoured by summer's blue morning haze. The early hours severed almost all the traffic in the sprawling compound, considered by most journalists, professionals, and architects to be the most modern and beautiful spaceport in the known galaxy. Its white exoskeleton hunched over panes of indigo glass that acted as webs of muscle and tissue which served to hold the hexagonal bones together. In a good mood, Gia Toshiko considered this place home, and prison in a bad mood. Today, the quarian, dressed in a fiery orange suit, was consumed with one of her bad moods. The Devil on her right shoulder clasped the reigns and steered his flaming chariot into the worst possible situations while whispering in her ear malicious orders, coating her tongue in acid and dipping her words in venom. Gia absentmindedly brushed the Angel off her left shoulder, letting the Devil swell inside her. After a heavy night of drinking alone, the alcohol seemed to have smuggled a battering ram through her throat and into her skull. Yesterday, school was a living nightmare and the argument she had with her mother was worse.

It never seemed to work—forgetting sable memories, drowning the pain. Alcohol and misery were made together and when mixed, created the best damn revenge story called a "hangover." Since she turned eighteen last year, the ability to obtain her "medicine" had become easier. No longer was stealing from her father an option—she could use her own funds that she feverishly worked for to buy her feel-good stuff. It does indeed feel good. For hours at a time, she can forget all of her problems and painful mistakes.

The spaceport was almost empty at this time of morning—everything felt suspended underwater: footsteps softly tapped like rain on a window sill, voices were muffled by the expansive, empty corridors, and the janitors slow-danced with their mops. A few businessmen casually roamed the terminals, shops, and courts in search of a decent breakfast and possibly an entertaining magazine to read while time slipped away. Maybe she should start reading more often instead of drinking. Maybe getting lost in a fantasy world where she could follow a brave protagonist through battles, thought, and an epic journey would be better than drinking away wasted potential.

Hell, who was she kidding?

Gia figured she should just jump on a spaceship and disappear into the sunset leaving her psychopathic family and lack of friends behind—she was here this early in the morning to escape her mother's paranoid interrogations of where she was last night. Who cares where she was? Why would her mother still love her after what Gia has done—after what she, Gia Toshiko, has become? Her mother should have taken a heavy object, like a torque wrench to her skull while sleeping. Even Gia considered herself to be a cold bitch and sometimes a good punch to the face from _herself _should be mandatory from time to time. Who trains their child so that by the age of nine she is capable of killing a fully grown military trained turian through hand-to-hand combat? Who trains their child to be thoroughly literate in the art of firing weapons, from sub-compact pistols to high-powered rifles? Gia realized something traumatic happened in her parent's past life. How bad could it have been?

_Whatever._

It was part of _their_ past, not hers. Being raised in a nest constructed with strands of insanity and threads braided with lunacy has literally forced her go _mad._ She lives in a household where her parents have not yet taught her how to fly, rather to combat Spectres for fuck's sake. This... _paranoia_ makes her want to slap both of them in the face and tell them to wake the hell up! All of this pent up... _rage _pissed her off even more. If her moronic father didn't mess up four years ago, then maybe she would have been a somewhat normal person living a somewhat normal life.

Finally, Gia found what she was searching for—a bastion of hope. A lighthouse calling her home. A refilling station.

A bar.

With its low red lights, mahogany wood counters and blood-red cushions perched on aluminum stools and chairs, this dark place mimicked the gushing emotions inside of her wound up quarian body. Each time she went in there, an unknown force plugged a key into her back and violently twisted. Inside, her springs, cogs, and wires were screaming with heated pain. Soon she was going to explode and instead of a shower of blood and guts, she would spray shrapnel made of sprockets, springs, and a cold, machined heart.

She's always wondered why spaceports have bars in them as a kid.

_Man, being a kid was the best_, she thought. Gia sat herself on a stool and plopped her leather backpack filled with work equipment and school stuff into the neighboring seat.

She didn't want anyone sitting beside her.

Being a kid was awesome, especially for her. Gia's family was tight without a stitch of dysfunction. There wasn't a worry in the world, except for school on an all human planet, but that was easily overlooked. Everyone got along and were nice to each other until high school raped the socially tolerant lump of gray matter in all of their brains. Gia collapsed into her folded arms and sighed.

"A couple more months of this shitty place and I am out of here."

"Where are you going, Gia?"

The male voice forced a smile on the little quarian's face, for this man was the nozzle to her refilling station.

He was the bartender.

"Haven't I told you, Bill?"

Bill was an ex-Alliance Marine in his mid twenties who looked like he inhaled a barrel and could fight tigers in his sleep with one arm tied behind his back. His black long-sleeved shirt appeared close to rupturing when he inhaled gallons of air, risking those around him with a machine gun burst of buttons and thread.

"No, you have not."

"I applied for the Culinary Arts of Thessia—you know, the big one where all the world class chefs go."

He smiled and said, "That's great!"

Gia envied this man—looked up and idolized him. It wasn't because of this physical prowess—although she could take him in her sleep—it was because of how he acted. As a bartender, Gia noticed you have to be as charismatic and as charming as a talking golden retriever. He must be able to talk anyone into buying drink after drink to the point where his customers leave a substantial tip. Bill was stuffed full of stories, so much so that he could puke novel sized tales, shit buckets of gold, and still have enough stories to write fifteen epics that would dwarfs the _Iliad. _Being an ex-Marine, his non-fictional stories are both chilling and entertaining.

Maybe it wasn't a barrel that he inhaled, rather a treasure chest.

As a line cook at the 21 Hour Diner across the spaceport, Gia had listened to her well traveled customers talk about adventures she only _dreams _of having. Gia wanted a life full of journeys where she could write a biography heavy enough to knock out Bill. She wanted to humble him, though Bill was on the top of the food chain, whereas she was a squirming worm on hot tarmac. Gia has seen him in action—has seen the way he captures the attention of his audiences with tales both entertaining and harrowing. Gia just wanted to reach over the counter and sock him right in the face.

"Anyways, I am _more _than qualified to get into the school. I have already fulfilled the required five-hundred hours of working in a professional kitchen. This is what I want to do."

"That' great, kid. So, what are you doing here this early? Don't you start your shift in what, thirty minutes?" He peered at the clock on the mirrored wall behind him.

Gia glanced at her own watch. It's the same kind as her father's that he lost ten years ago on the Citadel. Since then, he never bought another one, but did manage to get one for Gia for her thirteenth birthday. It was a special watch handcrafted by quarian watchmakers and horologists. They are very far and few between. Gia almost threw it into the ocean after what her dad did four years ago.

"Yeah, just came by to say hi," she lied. "By the way, you look different today."

"Oh? Let me guess, I look anxious? My shift is over in thirty minutes. I would love to get home and crash."

"What's _that_ on your face, Bill?"

"That's a beard," he stated flatly.

"What in the hell did you do to it?"

"I trimmed it up. Some chick came in here a couple of days ago and said my untamed face-bush was ugly. She hurt my feelings. Stabbed me in the heart. I was crushed," he exaggerated.

"Can I have a drink?"

"You insult me, then expect me to give you a drink?"

"Yes," she said. "I'm buying and you know I tip well."

"Goddamn girl." Bill's eyes squinted and he leaned towards Gia, giving her words of advice. "You start work soon. You can't stand in front of a hot-top for fourteen hours shit-faced."

"I can stand shit-faced wherever the hell I want, Bill. You're not my goddamn dad. Also, I have school in four hours, so I have a short shift."

"Well staggering off to math class while inebriated is even worse. So, as a friend, a guardian, and sane individual, I am going to say 'no'."

"What do you want me to do, get on the bar and twirl my dress?"

"_Ew_, no! You are like... a dude in an alien chick's body. That would be, I don't know, _weird._"

"Thanks."

"No problem," he said. "By the way, you cannot afford to get fired _again _by your boss."

Gia buried a finger into Bill's chest and almost yelled, "That was _not _my fault. That son- of-a-bitch wanted his eggs sunnyside-up, so I gave him his eggs sunnyside-up."

"Oh here we go again..."

"_Then_ he said they were raw on the top. What in the hell do you expect? That is what sunnyside-up means!"

"Gia-"

"He also pushed me first."

"That doesn't justify hitting him in the face with a frying basket _with _hot oil and fries still in it. Seriously, you could have gone to jail for that. People do not like becoming Freddy Krueger."

"What?"

"Old movie reference."

"There are other things I have done that are far worse that could have put me behind bars," she spouted, reaching over the counter and grabbing a bottle of dextro-alcohol.

"Like what, _stealing_?" he punctuated, grabbing the bottle from Gia. "I _don't_ want to know about your other run ins with the law."

"_Don't _worry, I keep that for myself on rainy days," she said, staring Bill right between the eyes. Gia hoped to see his head explode from her gaze that has been said to "bore into anyone's skull and through the wall behind that." Her father said that stare is all her mother's.

"Seriously, Gia." Bill took the bottle from her little hands and put it onto the bar top. "You need to put your burners on 'simmer' instead of 'burn-the-shit-out-of-everything'."

"But that is how you caramelize and brown stuff. It gives life flavor."

"People do not like to be 'caramelized' and 'browned.' It hurts."

Two men walked into the bar, gave both Gia and Bill odd looks, and safely took seats two spots away from the arguing couple. Gia noticed they looked like miners, or mercenaries of sorts.

Mercenaries sounded cooler.

"Don't touch that bottle, Gia," said Bill with a grin on his face.

Gia poked the bottle as his back turned.

"Gentlemen, you two look hungry, or maybe you are thirsty?" he asked the two men who continued to stare at Gia.

"What is _that_?" one of them asked, pointing at Gia. They obviously have never seen a quarian before.

Maybe they were miners after all.

Or septic tank cleaners.

"No one," she responded.

"That, my fellow drinkers, is Gia Toshiko, my quarian friend." Bill's voice boomed. Gia called it his foghorn voice. It is obnoxious, gets people's attention, and is artificial. "Don't mess with her, she's a feisty and valued customer. See, we even have a Wall of Fame with her picture in it," he whispered, pointing to a collage full of celebrity faces who had passed through the bar in the past. Gia's picture was right in the center. The camera focused in on her middle-finger instead of her orange helmeted face.

"_Hrmpf_, never seen one of 'em in person. How 'bout that?" said the man with a red beard.

"Do you want a picture? Come on, you can pose in front of me!" Gia got out of her chair and walked over to them. "I'm a goddamn tourist attraction around here."

"_Hey hey hey_, Gia, walk away, right now," ordered Bill, his voice hearty and slightly nervous.

Both miners, or whatever they were, had dumbfounded looks slathered on their stupid faces. Gia noticed an older gentleman walk into the bar. His disgruntled and glazed over eyes met Gia's. He had on a red bow tie with a white and blue plaid shirt.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

"A disturbed young woman," he said back and took a seat at a table, far away from the bar. Bill's nervous laughter ruptured the awkward silence.

"Can I get you two breakfast?" he asked the men while a waitress tended to the old man.

Gia sat back in her chair. Her hands shook. The world spun. The airport was filling up with people—humans, a few krogan, one of which came into the bar—and a bunch of turians. She scanned the crowd, critiquing their faces in search of the one her parents told her to look after. It had become habit. One in a trillion chance that the confrontation would even happen. Everyone seemed to be normal and droned on with their boring, subdued lives. They were all slaves, every single one of them.

"I heard quarians are good mechanics," said the one miner with an orange beard and a farmer's tan. He looked like an asshat to Gia. "Hey kid, are you for sale?"

"I... _what_?"

Gia couldn't believe what she heard, nor could the krogan who sat one seat to Gia's right. He wore a business suit and Gia almost laughed at him.

"Like, aren't you here on your pilgrimage thingy?" asked the other miner who was missing a thumb. "I heard you are hard workers. Cheap labor, too."

"How do you know what a pilgrimage is, Joe?" asked Fireneck to One Thumb.

"I read... _sometimes_," said One Thumb. "Anyways, I was wondering if you would like to come help us with stuff on our farm."

"How do I know you aren't some sort of rapist asshole who sleeps with his animals?"

Fireneck laughed and slapped One Thumb on the back.

"We are agrarian farmers," said Fireneck. "We usually pick up people who are out of a job to help on our farm. Mechanics are also welcome."

"No, _not_ for sale." Gia pulled out an assignment for school that was due in five hours and breathed _assholes _under her breath.

"Well damn," they both said in unison.

"What about a midget?" asked Bill to the farmers.

"Midgets?"

"Yeah, I mean midgets would be valuable to any mechanic shop with their little hands and such. They could get into some small spaces like replacing tractor parts... or whatever you use to farm."

Bill was diverting their attention away from Gia by using a story Gia told to Bill a while back. Mom works in a mechanic shop and has a midget co-worker who gets paid a nice sum. Midgets and quarians. Who would have thought they get paid more for mechanical work? Bill served both Fireneck and One Thumb a summer ale—the krogan took the strongest alcohol they had. Gia's attention on her homework, which was assigned one week ago, was annihilated by these two jerks.

"Maybe we should find a midget to do our mechanic work," suggested Fireneck. "I really like quarians, though."

"Midgets, man. I'm telling you..." said Bill. He took a quick glance at Gia. Both of them sensed trouble and Bill knew how volatile Gia was. If she retaliated, her ass could get Bill fired. He did not want the farmers to stoke Gia's fire. The Devil on Gia's right shoulder readied his trident. These farmers were scrambled in the head, much like the eggs Gia cooks in the mornings. She was ready to crack their shells if need be.

"By the way, what is the going rate for quarians?" asked Fireneck to One Thumb. "How much is a blow job?" laughed One Thumb. "They probably get lonely in that suit of theirs."

"That would kill _it_! Why don't we just lasso this one and bring it back to our place," said One Thumb. From the corner of Gia's eyes, she noticed both of them stand. Fireneck downed the rest of his ale while staring at the five and a half foot tall quarian doing her homework. Gia knew she pissed both of them off. An alien living on a human colonized world hurt a poor patriot's pride.

Patriots.

Keelah, she hates them. Both of these men were elitists and wanted to show dominance over Gia and she knew it, though she did not think they were stupid enough to make a move in front of Bill who could probably take both of them. They wanted a reaction from her. That was all.

"Gentlemen, _gentlemen _come on, why don't we just get along?"

"Shut up, Bill. They are too pussy to lay a finger on me," Gia spat. "They are just kidding—trying to get a rise out of me. Besides, I have my krogan friend here. Do you really want to provoke him?" Gia asked, throwing a thumb over her shoulder at the krogan she had never seen in her life. The krogan didn't show it, but he was paying attention to the action to his left, Gia knew it. As a natural predator, they always pay attention to potentially caustic situations. Gia's heart softly and reliably _thudded _as her adrenaline tried to kick in the front door. They were not going to make a move on her. This is a spaceport and heavily guarded by both police and military personnel. The men nervously laughed and backed down, just as Gia expected.

"_Chicken shit_," Gia lisped under her breath. Fireneck grabbed her arm with a grimace on his face. Gia, seeing his snarling lips, didn't appreciate it.

_ Not. One. Bit._

With her right arm, she grabbed the alcohol bottle she had planned to drink and sent it _accelerating _towards his stupid sweaty red face. Unlike in the movies, the bottle did not shatter or burst, but _thocked _off the side of his skull. Fireneck dropped to the floor in anguish.

"'_Dat bitch!_"

"No one touches me!" she shouted, the bottle poised over her head like a lumberjack with an axe ready to make the final blow to a tree.

Driven to get the bottle to shatter, Gia jumped off her stool and cracked him on the crown of his skull, this time sending clear pieces of shrapnel ricocheting around the bar creating a white fissure down the center of his skull that quickly flooded with blood. The alcohol in the wound probably didn't feel too nice either.

_ Good._

One Thumb lurched for Gia and wrapped a crimped hand around her neck, causing them to lose their balance. Gia blindly groped for something to grab as she fell. The backpack's shoulder strap hooked around her arm, spilling its contents across the floor. Protractors, right-angles, and tablets scattered from their dark burrow. The man on her was powerful and Gia watched Bill jump over the counter and grab One Thumb by the shirt, literally ripping it off the farmer bastard's back. Gia sunk her fist deep into One Thumb's face and repeated, all while grabbing for a nylon and Velcro pack she takes with her to work every day. Fireneck squirmed on the ground next to both of them, moaning into his hands. Finally, Gia grabbed the pack she was so desperately looking for and a wooden handle slipped into her grip as One Thumb landed a mighty blow right on her mouth. Now, wearing a helmet and everything is great, but the collision was so harsh, her helmet slipped forward and the inside rim of the mask busted her lips. Gia's teeth chomped on her lower lip. Warm blood gushed into her mouth _pissing _her off even more. Out slipped an eight inch chef's knife from Gia's black nylon pack. She gunned right for One Thumb's neck. Gia could see One Thumb's eyes widen in disbelief while he murmured two or three gloriously terrified curse words in rapid succession.

"Grab her arm!"

Even though several full grown security officers had to pry her off the farmer, Gia had a sense of satisfaction seeing her assailants writhing on the ground.

"I told them not to touch me!" she screamed and dropped her work knife. The tip of the blade bit into the wooden floor of the bar. It stood straight up.

A burly security officer had her by the arm and pulled her away from the farmers, though Gia landed a swift kick right to One Thumb's solar plexus.

"Enough!" exclaimed the officer, jerking her away from One Thumb, who was fighting for breath and painting the floor with the blood from his mouth. "Who else attacked these guys?" asked the security officer eyeing the krogan.

"It was all her," said the krogan, his baritone voice tickling the inside of Gia's ear.

"_Uh-hu_, and it's raining cats and dogs outside too, right?"

"Raining what?" asked the krogan.

A crowd of people wreathed the bar, curious of the commotion, their red rimmed, sleep deprived eyes peering over Styrofoam coffee cups.

"Officer, these two men touched my friend, Gia here. Feel free to watch the security footage if you wish," said Bill. "It was out of self-defense. I will attest on her behalf."

"Gia?" asked the officer, eyes squinting. "Gia Toshiko?"

"That would be me and let me guess, you have heard of me before, right?"

"Hasn't _everyone _heard of you?" he yelled.

"I'm not sure if I am supposed to take that as an insult or a compliment."

"Please, officer, this is all a misunderstanding. Bar fights happen all the time. You know how it is, right? Stress and all that jazz. Bekenstein has one of the highest suicide rates in the galaxy. It's better to just let them duke it out once in awhile instead of having them cut their wrists or swallow bleach."

"I'm about to head home, so you three have it lucky. Warnings for all of you." The officer snapped the leather strap back around his sidearm's grip. "Hey, guy, go get some medical attention for your head."

"Aren't you going to charge her, officer?" babbled One Thumb who was spitting out teeth.

"It was out of self defense, right? By the way, do you want to be written up for getting your asses handed to you by a thirteen-year-old, five-foot-five alien girl? That would be embarrassing. By the way, you touched her first by the look of things," the officer laughed.

"Eighteen" said Gia.

"Huh?"

"I'm eighteen, not thirteen."

"That's still pathetic, guys."

"Please, you two are bleeding on my floor," stated Bill. "Get the hell out of my bar."

"This is not the end of us, Gia Toshiko."

Gia glared at Fireneck, plucked her knife from the floor, and sheathed it.

"I can give you my address if you want. Would you like it? I am _not _afraid of you."

"Yeah, give me your address!"

"Hey, _you_, enough! I can still charge you!" yelled the officer, now pointing his baton at the farmers.

"Bow-legged bucktoothed shit guzzling inbred _eediots_. I never would have thought they had the balls to touch me." Gia picked her stuff off the ground and put it back into her school pack.

"And Gia, you best watch your mouth. I can charge you for public indecency."

"I work with an ex-convict and an old Greek woman in the kitchen. After a couple years of standing next to them in a sauna-like environment, your mouth becomes rancid. I don't know what to say, officer."

"This is Bekenstein. It is considered the human's Illium. Let's show the rest of the galaxy what we are made of. Be a proud patriot," said the cop.

Gia inhaled a breath of air and responded in the most respectful manner she could muster, "Fuck patriots."


	3. Chapter Two - Ignition

**Remember to check out my BSN page (linked on my profile page here on fanfiction) to look at art by modsoft created for each chapter!**

**The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter Two - Ignition**

Stark white light flashed like haunting machinegun fire on Brian Hilliard's face. In one of his two little apartments—safe houses—on the Citadel, he watched the vids, mindlessly pursuing the channels in search of something that would fill the empty void inside of him. The blinds covering the windows leaked slats light, for darkness and concealment were his friends, possibly Brian's new best friends since he lost his old one ten years ago.

Brian wiped a bear-like paw on his gray sweatpants and pushed a hand back into the chips bag sitting on the couch next to him like a loyal pet dog. Food comforted him and never talked back, only grew on his midsection as a constant reminder of their twisted friendship. His head swam with wild ideas where paranoia was the alpha predator in his ocean of thoughts. Should he or shouldn't he take this job opportunity that had found him? For ten years, he had been on the run—surviving with the help of his inside C-Sec agent, and only friend, Pira T'Estoni.

_Of course, Pira can't take all of the credit_, Brian thought as he played with the fire-selector switch of his Shuriken machine pistol. Thumbing the lever onto _FIRE, _he scratched the side of his skull at the pesky itch buried beneath his sandy-blond curls. Mercenary work on the Citadel was common. Guard this delegate or politician while he or she conducts an under the table deal.

Simple.

Brian knew politicians were corrupt, but goddamn, he never knew they were this canker riddled. They appeared to be at the _very_ least decent people through the media, but once you see through their polished metallic surface, all you notice is a gaping, corroded rust hole.

Brian opened his omni-tool so he could re-read the e-mail that was sent to him a couple of days ago. Usually, he tries not to bother Pira since she is busy with her job at C-Sec. He does not want to risk spoiling her life if anyone found out she was helping him, the number one fugitive on the Citadel who ten years ago, broke free a "psychopathic family murdering assassin," also known as Toby Heiko, or Allan Toshiko, or whatever his fake name was now.

Brian tried to be self-reliant, because leaning on someone's shoulder while asking for money was not his kind of thing. Mercenary work was delightful because it is shady, and living in darkness is Brian's lifestyle. No one asks for legitimate personal information. All they need is some protection—a contingency if something does not go as planned. Brian, however, always hopes something does _not_ go as planned. Getting shot at is way more entertaining to him than sitting in his apartment for days on end. Each time he steps out of his doorway, every time he goes to the local grocery, every time he wakes up, he is expecting a blade from behind from a turian bastard known as Skave, or an unnamed hired assassin. That is what makes life fun—living on the edge is what Brian enjoys to do, but after ten years of it, he is beginning to feel a crick in his neck. Maybe dying would be for the best. Maybe he should just shoot himself in the head right now to get this over with.

Pira would not mind too much.

He _is_ quite a handful and has still been trying to nail a date with her after all these years. Being suave with that chick just doesn't work. He needs to try something else. Asari living up to one-thousand years could be part of the culprit and trying to get a date actually _does_ take ten years.

_Ah, whatever. _

Brian upended the bag of chips into his mouth, not caring about the crumbs tumbling down his shirt. No one was going to see him making a pig of himself, nor would anyone care—he is too damn sexy for anyone to notice a crusty ring of powdered cheese around his chapped lips. His pale skin flashed white as a commercial exploded on the holographic screen. Brian doesn't dare open the blinds for fear of a sniper's bullet penetrating the glass and ruining his perfect jaw line and dismantling his flawless face that should grace the public more often. Running away—leaving the Citadel was impossible, to Brian, at least. To Pira, who was trying to find a way to leave, it is not impossible.

Nothing is impossible for that girl.

Brian likes that kind of stubbornness. It reminds him of himself, which is why they probably get along like an electrical socket and a curious toddler with a fork. With a flick of his greasy finger, he opened the e-mail he received. He yawned, stretched, and sucked the calories off his fingers one by one while reading over the e-mail.

_ Dear anonymous possible client,_

_ Hello, I am a government official and for your sake, I will not name myself nor my occupation for this can spoil our relationship. I have heard good things about you from my other friends holding positions in office. I have a high-risk operation surgically thought out that needs your assistance. For one, I am a human official and I need other humans to back me up on this little operation. It is on the Citadel and should take anywhere between one to two hours (Citadel time) to complete. This is a simple escort mission and I will pay a handsome sum of 50,000 credits for a clean sweep where all we leave behind are echoes. Are you in or out? Please respond within a week. _

_ Regards,_

_ A Politician _

Brian has rudimentary skills in deciphering e-mails and pinpointing where they came from, but this one is well coded which means it must be legit. The pay is _very _generous... _too _generous it seems. That is the only put-off to this whole thing, yet if it checks out to be solid, he could live without mooching off Pira for quite some time, and that is a good thing. They are always trying to one-up each other and the game is getting ridiculous. Pira has begun lifting weights to catch up to Brian.

Hilliard laughed, almost spitting out his Tupari drink thinking about Pira bench pressing in the C-Sec gym. He flexed and admired his guns in the darkness of his little apartment. If she could see him now, flexing to himself on this shitty couch with an empty bag of junk-food propped on his stomach and a machine-pistol in his hand, she would walk right on out of the room laughing, having already won their little competition. It was this competition that kept him going, to be honest.

There was a knock at his door.

Brian's heart wrestled with his lungs, choking them both out.

No one was supposed to be at his apartment today... or tonight, whatever time it was. The sable atmosphere in this forsaken place had consumed all sense of time, sucking it in with the vehemence of a black hole. Brian got up from the couch and turned off the television, training his firearm on the door. If it were someone wanting to take him out, they wouldn't have knocked—rather they would have snuck in and shot him ruthlessly where he sat, blowing a hole in his chips bag and an even bigger one out his back.

Alone, he waited in darkness with the illuminated triple-dotted sights ready to blow a hole in someone's head with a burst of twelve-kilometer per second sand sized projectiles. To his surprise, the door opened, a figure entered, and the door closed. Something cocked and Brian heard a voice curse as the enigmatic figure tripped on Brian's boots he let sit right in front of the door.

"Lights!"

The lights flashed on, biting into Brian's saucered pupils, though his aim did not phase even as he saw a blue female figure. The center of the three dots sat rock steady in the center of her chest, ready to blow the intruder away.

"Brian, don't point that damn thing at me!"

"Pira?"

Brian noticed she cradled a plastic bag and took pride in holding a look of displeasure on her blue face. He lowered his weapon.

"Who else?"

"A... _uh_." A snarky answer could not be fished from his head. "Why did you come unannounced? I almost shot you." His voice was laced with concern. He thought about the e-mail and was about to ask Pira to look it over—make sure it checked out okay. He second guessed himself and threw the thought into the garbage.

"Was that concern I heard?"

Pira kicked her work shoes off to the corner and sat a plastic bag down on the table which was a cluttered mess, full of Brian's stuff. Pira brushed away food wrappers, beer cans, and a gun cleaning kit. With both hands, she lifted a twenty-five kilogram barbell off the table and lightly set it on the ground, huffing and puffing.

"It is called acting."

"_Uh-hu_. Anyways, we made plans for tonight, remember?"

"Nope."

"I was going to drop off some food for you." Pira, judgmentally looked Brian up and down. "Are you getting fat?"

"I am becoming insulated. There's a difference."

"No, you're getting soft," she said.

"_Squishy_ is a better word. Besides, I am cooped up in here for weeks at a time."

"Don't buy junk food then."

"Everyone has guilty pleasures, Pira. Even you... though I have not found it out yet."

"And never will. Here, I brought you some fresh produce to eat, word puzzles, and a rubber ball."

Brian walked over to the table and pulled the contents out of the bag.

"Word puzzles?" Brian asked, holding it up.

"It keeps the mind sharp and makes you aware—lets you connect the dots to certain things. Also, using your brain burns a lot of calories. Not like you do that too often, right?"

Brian stuck his tongue out at Pira when she turned her back.

"By the way, what were you doing in the dark with _that _gun?" she asked, jabbing a blue finger at his weapon.

Brian stuffed the machine-pistol in his pants, right behind the small of his back. He was almost ashamed of having it and pointing it towards his friend with deadly intent. Spending a lot of time by yourself makes you think differently. Tasks and ideas that you think are normal become suddenly alien and weird when a breath of fresh air blows through the room. Brian realized he was sitting in the dark eating bag after bag of chips and playing with a loaded firearm. He peered around his surroundings and noticed dirty clothes, food wrappers, and sweet drink cans scattered about his place. He was suddenly embarrassed that Pira had to see this mess.

"When was the last time you took a shower, Brian?"

Hilliard ran a hand through his hair and if felt greasier than the interior membrane of his chips bag.

"Are you alright?" asked Pira, placing a hand on his sculpted arm.

"When am I not alright?" he asked with a smile on his face. "I am on vacation, baby!"

"Vacation in the way that a deployed Marine is on extended leave from his or her house, right? Remember, you are being hunted."

"I haven't seen my face on the news in three years. I am not a celebrity anymore."

"_Boo-hoo_. That's like being proud of having your face printed on paper used for target practice."

"My face would swoon anyone shooting at it."

"Until there is a big ragged hole in your forehead," Pira shot back pulling out a head of lettuce and sticking it into his refrigerator. "You have a biology project growing in here," she said, her head shoved into the refrigerator. "Black mold can't be too good."

"I made that for you."

"That was kind. How long did it take you to make?"

"About two weeks."

"You're disgusting, Brian."

"I know."

Pira began pulling items out of the icebox and throwing them in the trash.

"By the Goddess, this refrigerator looks like a laboratory experiment. Are you studying biology?"

"Pira, I am trying to grow a garden full of lichens."

"Well mushrooms might be the only thing to grow in here."

Brian propped his arms on the breakfast bar looking over the small kitchen. He had a single burner stove, a microwave which he used frequently, and there was enough counter space for a fishbowl.

"Pira, did I ever tell you how much I appreciated the help?"

"Save the sarcasm while I am doing your chores."

Brian felt his cheeks flare red. He hid them behind a word puzzle book Pira brought over.

"No, seriously. I think I would be dead without your help."

Pira, sensing seriousness behind that arrogant voice, spun around to make sure he wasn't joking. She met a full-toothed grin that looked like a smile from an overgrown child who had too much caffeine. A serious look on his face was a glint of a fantasy in Pira's head.

"Your ass would be cooked without me, you know?"

"Thanks for the groceries, Pira."

"Yeah." Pira unsnapped the top button on her C-Sec uniform. "Since your kitchen is a mess, how about we go get some pizza a couple of floors down. I pass it every time I stop by with your packages. I have never had pizza before."

"Pira?"

Noticing his eyebrows crane up, she put her face in both hands muttering, "Oh no..."

"Did you just ask me out on a date?"

"No, that was called a friendly gesture. Get it right."

"After what, a little over eleven years, I have finally nailed a date with you."

"Brian, no, _please _don't do this to me."

"You know deep down inside I am right," he said, crossing both mammoth arms.

Pira sighed and went to put on her shoes.

"Where are you going?" asked Brian, walking around the breakfast bar clasping onto his puzzle book.

"Well are you coming or not?"

"Let me put on some decent clothes."

"Brian, this _is not a date._"

"Yeah it is."

"You are not going to give up, are you?" she asked desperately.

"Nope. Now just wait a second."

"It is just a bunch of drunk university students there at this time of night, so wear your worst."

Brian grabbed his coat to cover his machine-pistol. He never knew when he would need it.

Hopping on one foot in trying to get his boots on, he said, "Who am I kidding, with my drop dead gorgeous looks, it is only fair to wear my worst clothes. It gives the other guys a chance."

"You're insufferable."

"That sounds about right."

Before closing the door, Brian checked his studio apartment, taking note of where everything was located just in case someone came in after they left. This being the first time out of this place in a long time, he was jumpy, and for good reason. For all he knew, Pira could be a tool for drawing him out of his apartment just so he could be gunned downed in public. You cannot live life consumed with caution. If so, you will go insane. Brian would rather be shot than go insane. Straightjackets scared the ever living shit out of him, same with doctors who use puppets as a mean of communication and soundproofing rooms full of pillows and stuffed animals. He would become a serial killer if stuck in there.

Brian never really understood it. Being a fan of cinema, movies where the protagonist lives through a traumatic event and are still in danger as the movie ends, they all have blissful smiles on their faces as they live in some other country or planet away from their hunters. Brian lived amidst his hunters and he never wore a blissful smile, rather a cynical one. He was paranoid and for good reason. Deceiving a Council Spectre and the government was an idiotic idea which he executed. There is a difference between a smart idiot and a dumb idiot.

Brian was a smart idiot.

He could've just forgotten about Toby and hunted him down with the rest of his C-Sec team—believed their lies and deceit about his best friend. Knowing Toby, there was no way he could have kidnapped his wife and brutally murdered his kid, Gia. Brian saw that he didn't.

"Hey Pira, where is Toby, Nashira, and Gia at, anyways?"

Both of them decided to take the stairs down a couple of floors to the building's food-court. Brian held the door open for Pira as they entered the stairwell.

"I cannot tell you, Brian."

"That's because if I get caught, then I could lead the Hunter, or whoever is searching for me, to the Heiko family, right?"

"Yeah." Pira grabbed the handrail and walked down the stairs. Maybe this was the right time to ask Pira to check the e-mail he received. That course of action would mean defeat. He couldn't let Pira get the upper hand on him. Besides, they were at war.

"Do you know how they are doing?" asked Brian.

"They're alive, if that's what you are asking."

"That's a plus."

"You don't say."

"Seriously though, how are they doing?" asked Brian, sensing hesitation in her rough voice.

"The stress has gotten to them," she admitted.

"Damn."

"You really don't want to hear the details. All you should know is that they are all alive and healthy. They are a family, a strong one at that. After what Toby and Nashira went through, they can push through just about anything. I mean it."

Even though the Citadel is a city-scaled cage—a prison of glass and steel and concrete, he loved this place. Growing up on Earth, a forty-seven kilometer long city was over the top. The food is great, the people are amazing, and the sights are breathtaking. After walking in silence for a few minutes, they reached the food court. Seldom does Brian enjoy this commodity of going out to eat for fear of being knifed by a silent assailant in the crowd of people. His life goal and career was to survive and he enjoyed every damn minute of it even if it is costing him his sanity. It was the grandest test of them all to survive a decade on the Citadel where about two percent of the population wish to either imprison or kill him.

Graduating N7 training and becoming one of the first Citadel Security Special Response agents could not compete with his accomplishment of survival on the Citadel.

No one knew about this harrowing achievement but himself and Pira.

Hell, even Toby probably thought he was dead.

He caught ear that a lot of the tax money is going to be used to bolster the security system on the Citadel. Next year, he is going to have to get out of this place. Leaving his now best friend behind is going to be tough. Brian has always been a people person and losing his only friend is going to be rough.

Hell, why does he care? Wherever he moves to next, with his sheer amount of charm, he should be able to walk into a bar and people will be lining up to be his friend. It's lack of chase and pursuit he is going to miss the most. Maybe they catch word of him leaving and send two, maybe _three _Spectres after him. Now _that _sounds thrilling.

Pira and Brian took two stool seats at the pizza place. He was ready to slam some food. The food-court was in the center floor of the building of which was cylindrical. It was a hip part of town where university students enjoyed hanging out after a long day of classes. Brian lived in the same apartment building where a lot of students took residence. Cheap one room apartments were a plus to any college kid since tuition is shafting every damn one of them.

Brian thought of Rachel Hartmann.

All of the students here, sitting and talking amongst them, went to the same medical university as she. He wondered if there is a plaque at the school with her cheery face and name on it. Brian swore to himself that Skave would pay, wherever he was. That poor girl did not deserve that cavity in her chest—she did not deserve to bleed out in that shitty alleyway. She died a hero that day and no one knew it.

Brian ordered a slice of pizza for each of them and let Pira talk him into getting a vegetable lovers slice. Pira calling him fat hit deep.

Broccoli it is then.

"So, is there anything new happening in the life of Brian Hilliard?" asked Pira after she finished chewing her first bite.

"I... well, no. Not really much of anything happening."

Even as a forty-five year old man, Brian had the table manners of a six year old child jacked on caffeine. As Brian talked, he lobbed a chunk of sopping crust onto Pira's chin. Revolted—horrified, she swiped it away with the back of her hand. Brian had robbed Pira of her innocence as she stared into his open chewing mouth.

"Do you need money?"

Brian stopped chomping and peered around the food-court with a fist full of greasy napkins. Neon lights and advertisements blinked and winked at people walking around. The hundreds of chairs were filled with university students chowing down on late night cuisine, all of them conversing about their classes and professors, some of them talking about their experiments with drugs. Different species intermingled—asaris with humans, salarians with turians. It would have made Brian happy to see it, but the subject of money and his needing of it was a_ no no_ to delve into.

"I don't need money. Please, don't bring up that subject."

"Sorry, I am just concerned." Pira saw the joy and lightheartedness seep from his face.

"I have a job lined up for tomorrow, so cash is not a problem."

"You have something happening tomorrow?" she asked excitedly, leaning forwards, both brown eyes glinting.

"Yeah, it's a simple escort mission. In and out in two hours."

"Congratulations!"

"Save it for tomorrow."

Brian looked around the food court for a turian Spectre lurking in the crowd.

"Be careful, Brian."

Hilliard dumped the pizza crust into his gaping mouth, chewed and showed Pira the bread mush smeared on his tongue.

"By the Goddess you're so immature."

Brian threw his head back and laughed.

"When I thought you were going to say something meaningful, your inner child explodes and gets all over the place."

"Inner child? Oh come on, I have an outer child."

"What does that even mean?" she asked, wiping her mouth and raising a painted white eyebrow.

"I am a big dumb killer child with an appetite of a krogan."

"That you are."

"Are you going to eat your crust?" asked Brian, taking it from her plate with a greasy hand.

"I was going to say no, but since you just _stole _it from me, yes, I was going to eat it."

"So, what did you think?" he asked, eyeing her empty plate.

"Humans aren't too bad of cooks. I like pizza."

"You better or I was going to call you a heretic," quipped Brian.

Pira shot a glance at a big three-dimensional red clock hovering in the center of the food court and said, "Hey, it's getting late. I need a shower and should wrestle my blankets." Pira put her napkins on Brian's paper plate that he was still eating off of. "We should do this again, Brian."

Brian nearly fell out of his chair and jumped on her invitation saying, "How about tomorrow after my gig. A celebration of sorts."

"Sounds good." Pira stood up, stretched, and sneaked a kiss on Brian's cheek. "I will meet you here, same time."

Pira walked away without looking back. Wide-eyed, Brian ate Pira's crust, propped his feet on the table, and leaned back, picking at his teeth with the biggest goddamn smile on his face. A group of five human university students, all guys, gave Brian a thumbs up.

The next morning, Brian woke and responded to the e-mail by typing into his omni-tool using the pseudonym of _Iapetus_, the titan of mortal life. Brian was the gavel that decided the fate of mortals.

He felt it fit.

That's what his contacts know him by and is what he goes by. No one in this business uses their real names, nor do their employers want to know their real names.

That would only bring trouble.

Today was his day. He was going to swoop in, guard this politician, and head home for another glorious piece of pizza with Pira. Brian had a ritual before going into a potential fight that he had to perform.

Walking into his bathroom, he glared at himself in the mirror and gave himself a smile that would melt Aphrodite's heart into a puddle of throbbing goop. With a leather strap, he grabbed his combat knife that got him through the N7 training program and swiped it back and forth. He stropped the blade and brought it to his scalp. All of those damn glorious locks fell to his feet, kissing his kingly flesh. His scalp shined white under the hot tungsten filaments humming over the mirror.

He had his killing face on. Every muscle was flat in his face and his eyes seemed to stare right through even himself. He lightly placed dark brown contact lenses in his eyes and shaved the stubble on his face using his knife. To even a C-Sec officer who used to work with Brian, not even they would recognize him if they happened to cross paths. They would remember the top shaped Citadel Security Special Response agent, not this new person—not this barely contained beast.

Brian had put on some pounds, but in his boredom, he began lifting weights. His midsection was soft, but his arms were even larger than before and chiseled from granite. He had bricks masoned in his fists and hydraulic fluid coursing through his veins. His former self could run rings around him, but if his old self got close, his new self would punch a gaping hole through his chest and tear out his fucking spine.

His killing face was emotionless and he got in his game. Staring at himself, winter's bitter breath gave his deepest of bones frostbite.

He was ready for his assignment. More ready than anything in his life. Brian felt invincible. Nothing in the world could touch him. Everything felt right.

He walked into his kitchen and opened the freezer where he kept his armor concealed along with an assault rifle. It was hunched into a block wanting to be held by its master. He let his items drop into a duffle bag and he set it on top of his kitchen table, but a white and black checked book peeked out from under the heft of his bag, that being the puzzle book Pira had given him the night before. Brian, realizing he had half an hour to kill, grabbed the booklet and turned to the first page.

Physically, he was ready for this operation—he was ready for his credits. Mentally, he felt he needed to be stimulated. Waiting on the edge of an operation, no matter how mundane it may be, it was still a rush. Being Brian, he lived for the rush—lived for the action and suspense that flowed like raging, ripping torrents in a river, but now, before the mission, time and his emotions mimicked a brook that wept mud. Brian insouciantly flipped to the first page and he stimulated his mind through the wonders of word usage, though a piece of loose paper toppled out of the book.

Befuddled, he watched it twirl under the table, landing on his boot. He pinched it with his fingers and stared at the leaf of paper. It was a normal word-search but did not have a tear on any of the sides of pages, nor did it have a page number. Feeling like he had won the lottery, Brian unleashed a pencil and tackled the page that must have been a manufacturing defect. This booklet being from ages ago, easily fifty years old, it would make sense. Printed paper was becoming a rarity. Manufacturing machines got old, they broke down from the lack of upkeep. It would make sense why he got an extra puzzle to work on. Brian began hunting down words. He found _residence _and _taking _right away, residence being backwards. Those reversed ones always stumped him back in elementary school.

He pinpointed _is _and _at _shortly after.

Piece of cake. Those two letter words were just waiting to be found.

This job had to be executed with perfection. It was going to be no problem whatsoever since it was a simple escort mission. Since accepting the e-mail, Brian had received a bit more information on what to do and what preparations needed to be taken into hand.

It was simple.

Just keep an eye out for anything abnormal and protect his client.

They were wealthy, that was for sure. All that means to Brian is that he had to keep an extra careful eye out. He never trusted the rich unless they are those really kind celebrities who help the poor or fund research programs that actually mattered in this day and age. That is a different matter, though. These are politicians who cannot be trusted. Their words mean one thing and their actions mean another. They have to keep a good image—a mirror smooth reflection of their self for the masses.

Brian's duffel bag hung heavy in his hand on the subway which shot him to the opposite side of the Ward arm closest to the Presidium. The public transportation system on the Citadel was the best. Nothing was ever late which is good for him. Being late on a job he so desperately needed would reflect poorly on his record. It was the only thing he had going for him, coupled with his instincts that had been savagely sharpened through his N7 training, N7 service, time being a C-Sec agent, and the ten year hunt on the Citadel. So far, he has been flawless—no run-ins with the law.

_Nothing._

Smugly, Brian smiled to himself and grasped the pole on the train as it began decelerating at his stop.

Just get this job out of the way, head home, take a nice long nap, and meet Pira for another delicious slice of pizza. Their relationship over the past decade had been interesting. She was a shoulder for him to lean on and she gladly took the weight of his burdens which had the density of newborn stars. She was a good friend.

No, "good" doesn't do her justice.

_Scintillating _was the word he was searching for. He learned that from one of the puzzles Pira gave him.

Finally, he has the opportunity to spark something real—wake from this decade long nightmare to feel something with mass, solidity, and stability.

A frigid female voice called out which station they were at, which stop, and the time the doors would opened. Waves of people clashed like opposing tides, wrestling their way onto the platform, combating the onslaught of forces trying to get onto the train. Brian plowed right through them with his killface activated. He caught the eyes of a kid, no older than Gia the last time he saw her. The human child was holding onto his mom and dad's hand. Both of his blue eyes went wide, struck with mute fear of Brian and of his foreboding size. Brian's arm were easily the thickness of the kid's torso and this chump could feel the power emanating off his form—a mirage above hot, slick tarmac.

Hilliard had realized his charm had left him when his hair gently, silently tumbled to the floor this morning.

Kids love him, but not right now.

They feared him.

He was that big guy who is hidden under clown makeup.

He resonated evil, hostility, and bolt shearing power.

To Brian's surprise, a hard hand used to hugging the hips of a pistol's grip chomped onto his arm. Hilliard met eyes with a man in a black suit, his eyes covered with shades and a lump under his right arm.

"Are you _Iapetus_?" asked the man in shades.

Brian, eyeing the lump under this individual's arm, responded, "Yeah, who's asking?"

"Follow me."

Brian had a feeling this guy was one of the politician's protectors or bodyguards that usually accompanies him; this _oh so_ esoteric politician Brian was anxious to meet. Following the man in the black suit, Brian observed the way he carried himself. The man was about the same height as he, standing at 6'3", but Brian easily had fifty pounds on this guy. By the way his hand gripped Brian's arm, it didn't matter. His muscles were made of braided titanium. He probably ate nails doused in motor oil for breakfast since he was six years old.

Military maybe?

He didn't hold himself in the proud manner Brian and others of the Alliance did. Judging by the way he walked, this guy must be a private military contractor trained by some sort of militia. This guy would fight dirty and unconventional.

By watching the vids when bored out of his mind, Brian would sometimes flip the channel to one of those animal shows. Growing up an Earthling kid, he was used to the animals that dwelled on his homeworld, but with all these new aliens, the aliens' animals were just as interesting, if not more so.

Earth animals are vicious. They have to be to survive the relentless and ruthless wild and be dominant to others. This suited man probably fought like a chimpanzee. They are more than twice as strong as humans, half their size, and fight without honor. They grab and tear and bite. This guy reminded him of a chimp. Brian was glad this suited man was on his side.

Brian wouldn't like to run into him in an alleyway on one of his bad days, that's for sure.

The subway was packed full of lunch goers, all hungry from sitting in board meetings for hours on end.

If Brian worked in corporate, he would have slammed a chair against one of those windows and tossed himself out the highest story building on the Citadel, giving the people on the streets below a nice surprise. His body chunks and the hard _thwack _would be burned into dozens of people's nightmares for the rest of their lives.

"Into the elevator."

Brian complied with the man's order and walked into the steel box. He quickly found himself flanked by one other suited man, dressed in the same ridiculous uniform.

"We are going down below the subway system, _Iapetus_," said the man who grabbed him by the arm.

"Who are you supposed to be?" asked Brian, keeping his tone professional and deep, trying to show dominance.

Both men looked at each other and together said, "Insurance."

"I read in the e-mail that there are nine other hired men coming along for the ride. Where are they?"

"We are taking you to them now," said the other man, who wasn't as pale as the man Brian had first met. Both of them had that chimpanzee feel. Both were definitely not military, but something else. Something more deadly and somehow more professional.

They had the same feel as Skave.

The tan man caught Brian's glint of savage interest.

"What is in your bag?" asked the pale suited man.

"My materials. Light armor and an assault rifle."

"We are supplying your weapons. Armor is not needed. We can safely lock your bag in an assigned locker for you to retrieve after the mission."

"Why are weapons needed and not armor?"

"This is going to be an in and out escort mission. Armor draws attention. Being discrete is key. Details await you in several minutes. Be patient, _Iapetus_." The pale man took Brian's bag. "Don't worry, nothing will come to harm of your equipment."

"You run the show. I am here for assistance," Brian said as the doors opened. They were in what seemed to be a Keeper tunnel deep in the Citadel. Red lights from emergency lights running along the walls of the tunnels swaddled the crowd.

The subterranean shaft ran for miles.

It reminded Brian of the tunnel that lead them into C-Sec HQ on the cat and mouse game Toby, Nashira and he played ten years ago, except these tunnels were comfortably large enough to move materials with ease. If someone with access wanted to navigate the Citadel without being seen, this was the ideal way to do so. Nine men eagerly looked at the elevator and towards Brian.

"Am I late to the party?" he asked.

"No, you arrived precisely on time, _Iapetus_. Everyone here was early."

A woman in a light blue top with a black dress-skirt emerged from the crowd of men, carrying a transfixed, condescending gaze that left Brian feeling casketed in his brown Kevlar weave leather casual jacket. This particular jacket had a hole in its shoulder, right above Brian's collarbone. It was Toby's that Skave shot him in. Brian managed to save it before disappearing forever. It was a good luck charm of sorts and a symbolistic item proving to the Citadel that Toby's aversion to this place was not total. Toby still mocked the system that destroyed his life through this very jacket.

Brian eyed this woman and came to the conclusion that this person was in fact the politician that had hired him. Her voice was cold and skewered him with a lance of ice. Her blue top had predominant, squared shoulder-pads, making her more masculine and no doubt reminding her male competition that she was a force to be reckoned with. She walked up to Brian and shook his hand, staring directly into both eyes.

Her glare was unwavering and direct.

"I am your politician," she said.

Her grip was surprisingly tight.

The top of her head came up to the bottom on Brian's chin. This politician felt like Brian's kindergarten teacher of whom he hated passionately. These nine men were not her body guards, rather her students—her minions. Her austere gaze motioned Brian towards the pack of men, all fit and able to protect, kill if need be. The politician cleared her voice and ran a hand through her short-cropped obsidian hair. Her lipstick looked like bloodstains and Brian could swear her high heels were made of daggers.

"I am Andrea Strong, head of the Alliance's Human and Xeno Relations. These two men are my friends of whom do not want to and should not be named for both our sakes." The Queen of the Bitches pointed at the two suited men who were grabbing the duffel bags full of the hired men's equipment, including his own, and throwing them into the elevator. "I have these cards here which will gain access to lockers full of your equipment. In these lockers, you will also find your payment of fifty-thousand credits on another card which you can safely deposit into your bank accounts of which I have not tampered with nor know about. This is non-traceable money. Think of it as a gift card of sorts."

Half of the men chuckled. Brian looked around at the people he was going to be working with as Andrea handed all of them cards. He was easily the best of them, and the oldest.

"Now I want you all to promise me one thing once we get through this escort mission."

Everyone stood still, waiting for permission to speak.

"I want all of you to buy your girlfriend, boyfriends, wives or husbands dinner for tonight, that is all I ask of you after this mission is done."

"Yes ma'am," they all said at once, grinning widely.

"Good, now onto the details you are itching to know about. Guns are probably not needed, but we are going to supply them to you for security's sake. All weapons are going to be incinerated after the assignment, along with your clothes of which you will place into a BioHazard bag you can find in your lockers. Now, I won't go into the details of this mission. You do not need to know what I am doing, nor do you want to know what I am doing—you are here to protect me, be a contingency if something goes wrong, which I am certain this will be a mere walk on the beach compared to the stuff you are all used to. Now, all you need to do is follow me around in your civilian clothes and blend into the crowd, but keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary."

Andrea Strong took out a black bag and unzipped it.

"Everyone, come gather your weapons. You should find three thermal clips in there for each of you."

Brian waited and let the others grab their gear first. This Andrea Strong—this politician seemed very legitimate and had thought this whole operation through with a safe amount of paranoia written into the operation logistics.

Paranoia is good to an extent and this woman had the perfect amount which would make Goldilocks jealous. She locked eyes with Brian and to his surprise, he peered away first. Those eyes persisted and scraped at Brian to an ineffable extent that suddenly made him nervous.

For fifty-thousand credits, he cannot turn this job down.

Brian's stomach dropped to his knees and he abruptly wanted to head home—just blow these people off, make an excuse like he would with his mother when he did not want to go to school one of those tough Fridays back on Earth.

No.

He must push on.

His sixth sense is usually right, though.

_This job felt good_, he told himself. It is just that damned woman. He has never met anyone like her before. Brian bent to the bag and grabbed a pistol. It was a model he was familiar with using back in C-Sec. They looked like police issued Predators that had been decommissioned via the holster wear, chipping paint, worn rubber grips, and the once sharp angles on the safeties. It was a familiar and nostalgic swing back in time, almost feeling like slipping on a pair of long lost gloves. The heft was there, the iron sights brought back memories, and Brian's confidence boosted. He concealed the thermal clips in his front jacket pocket and slid the Predator pistol into the back of his pants, right next to his Shuriken machine pistol. He did not wish to tell them about his personal defense weapon for fear of kicking him off the mission due to insubordination to mission parameters.

He was ready to go.

Locked and loaded.

His killface was as hard as ever.

Andrea Strong handed them all clear earpieces for communication that should keep the team cohesive and effective all while blending into the crowd. This politician had everything sorted out. Brian admired her for this. The red lights on the wall washed over all of them, flooding the tunnel with crimson fog.

Brian watched the two men in black suites pick up one briefcase each and handcuffed them to their own wrists. It looked like they were transporting physical materials, probably a laptop or data pads of sorts. Both suitcases appeared to be heavy, even for the men in black who were physically fit.

"Are there any questions?" asked Andrea Strong—the ice queen—the abominable snowwoman in a tight skirt wearing a human's hide she skinned herself.

Goddamn there was something about her.

_What was it?_

"So we just follow you—blend into the crowd and report anything abnormal, right?" asked Brian, rubbing his smooth chin.

"That is correct."

"Is there anyone..._anything _we should be looking for?"

"I will contact you over the radio if need be, _Iapetus_."

"All right, I am ready to roll."

"If you all will, follow me."

An hour had past and Brian caught nothing out of the ordinary.

The Citadel churned the Widow Nebula as if it was any other day.

They visited the base of the Presidium through one of the Ward arms and were on their way to their last checkpoint, of which there had been three stops in total. Andrea Strong's ambiguity had intrigued Brian as he silently, unnoticeably snaked through the crowds. He was in his natural territory and even Andrea and her two chimpanzees had a hard time picking up on him, while the others stuck out like skanky clad prostitutes in a business meeting. He on the other hand, was invisible. Ten years of moving through crowds had become second nature—had become instinctual.

Though he had one problem.

One that could shatter the operation.

He had to take a shit.

Seeing that Andrea had disappeared into a bank with a three-pronged crown as its logo two minutes ago, he had plenty of time to go AWOL in desperate search for ceramic and paper. He and another man, Red, he called himself, talked a little bit ago while concealing themselves in a coffee shop across the street from where Andrea had disappeared on the previous checkpoint. Right on the tip of the Zareka Ward arm, there was a park, in fact the _only_ park on the Citadel that is not on top or inside of a building. Red had told Brian that a popular band called Blue Lights was performing for free at the park in a couple of days. Brian, not bothering to pay attention to pop culture, had no idea. He has, of course, heard the music before, the lead singer a quarian. She was something else. He imagined Gia, wherever she is, probably rocked out to their music.

Teenagers and all.

According to Red, the entire park is going to be packed with people; be one of the largest events held on the Citadel.

It was going to be a madhouse.

Red appeared to be a decent guy with an ear pressed firmly to the floor. Brian had a sixth sense with people and Red was someone to trust.

"Hey Red, this is Iapetus."

Brian waited for him to respond. Both Red and Brian shared a separate channel frequency if shit hit the fan and they had to bail. They formed an alliance early on.

Insurance, Brian called it.

"This is Red. What's up?"

Brian could see Red's ablaze hair through the crowd of aliens. He stood right next to a food cart selling some sort of asari snacks.

"I need to hit the bathroom or my pants are going to be ruined."

Red laughed and said, "There is a pharmacy one block away, facing the Presidium tower. They usually have clean toilets in there if you are in need of a shit."

"Roger that, you know where to find me. Don't let them wander off without me."

"I have your six, _Iapetus_."

"You're a good man, Red."

"I disagree."

As curious as he was, Brian ignored that last part. Most mercenaries have some sort of story to tell that would make for a mature film. Brian had his tango with Skave. That particular story doesn't sit well with him. Skave ruined many people's lives that day and was a slap to his grounded beliefs of sanity and safety. Out there, somewhere, was Skave, still hungry for his wounded prey. That Spectre injured all of them to the point that he could track any one of them down from their blood trails and the scent of fear. Skave was better than Toby and himself combined. After ten years, Skave was probably an even more efficient killer than before—skills distilled into a lethal toxin. Brian had told himself that if Skave ever went after both of them again, Brian and Toby wouldn't even know what hit them.

The streets of the Citadel were still writhing with people from the lunch crowd. Andrea Strong chose a good time to blend in and Brian had to admit, she was good. Every time Brian walked out into the streets of the Citadel, he loses himself in the fondue pot of cultures, the diversity in stuff to do, and the scale of this place. Neon holographic lights bolted across the streets advertising goods, new movies, and news from the galaxy. Even the streets were scaled in different colored panels that light up a different shade of blue when stepped on. This was one of the more eclectic parts of the Citadel where the crime rate was very low due to this being dominantly controlled by the asari. Very rarely did Brian have to arrest an asari and when he did, it was always entertaining to see them beg for forgiveness and try to talk their way out of their crimes.

The Citadel rotated and the Widow, the Serpent Nebula's star, burned into his skin. The heat varied from twenty degrees between the shade and full exposure to the star. Now, it was close to thirty-five degrees Celsius with no breeze. In other words, it was hot as hell and air-conditioning was his top priority.

The look of disgust erupted on everyone's faces as the Widow rudely interrupted their days. For the people who were sitting outside and eating, their tables erupted with color as automated umbrellas swelled to reflect the searing heat. The ground sensed the elimination of shadows, the tiles bled a deep sapphire blue—an effective visual trick in making people think "cool."

Brian pushed open the pharmacy's door while frigid air swallowed him whole.

"Can you point me towards the bathroom?"

An asari, all blue, inanely waved her hand towards the back of the store while trying to deal with a troublesome hanar customer.

"Thanks and good luck!" he shot back.

"Kill me now," she said back to Brian with a mighty grin. Brian realized his killface must have gone away with the desperation of releasing the monster squirming inside him.

Bursting into the bathroom, he picked the closest stall and aborted last night's dinner in a cacophony of noise only beautiful to himself.

Now, he had time to think.

Very soon, he had to get off the Citadel since all the new security protocol was going to be implemented soon.

What about Pira?

Hopefully tonight, he can make up his mind, or at least clear it up. He thought about the puzzle book she gave him last night. Brian, being defiant and rogue, had brought the small pocket sized one with the loose puzzle sheet hidden inside with him on the operation. He found it entertaining how Pira managed to get paged books with real paper. Pira, realizing his sense of devotion and love towards nostalgic items, must have bought him paperbound puzzle books to feed the throbbing, aching lonely void in his soul for old school human novelty items.

Opening the paperbound puzzle book, the loose page fell out of the middle and softly fluttered between Brian's legs as he sat on the toilet. His picked it up and began working on it yet again since he had nothing to do for the next five or so minutes.

Brian had an itch in his ear, so he took out his earpiece to scratch it when he suddenly found a reversed word that puzzled him. His brows knitted together, baffled at the coincidence.

"_Tha hell_?"

Brian circled the name _Toby_.

Are they allowed to stick names in these kinds of puzzles?

Whatever.

He soldiered on until another word came up that again seemed to have broken the rules.

Feverishly, Brian flipped to the title page, audaciously seeking an answer to his question. He found the publishing information and with a shaking finger, pointed out the date of when the book was published and printed. It read _2140_.

The name, well actually the place that Brian had circled on the page was _Bekenstein._ The book being published in 2140, Bekenstein had not been colonized or even discovered yet.

"What in the hell is going on here?" Brian savagely whispered, his hands shaking.

He then found and circled another name.

_Milgrom._

"Oh my god, Pira. Oh my god."

Brian, grinning more than when Pira gave him a light kiss on the cheek, viciously wrote down the words he found from this morning and from this lonely bathroom stall in an order that actually made sense.

_Toby is taking residence at Milgrom, Bekenstein._

"You sneaky little bitch, Pira. You _sneaky _little blue _sonofabitch_."

She had given him Toby's location in a way that only Brian could decipher and is easily destroyed. She knew about this job he was on, she had to. Once he gets paid, he can get off this station and visit Toby, maybe take residence over there and start fresh without being hunted like an animal. Pira forged fake identification for the whole Heiko family once before, she can do it again for him. With the fifty-thousand credits, he can finally get off the Citadel and begin a new, and hopefully final chapter in his life.

From outside the bathroom, Brian heard commotion, a wet bang, and a scream. That asari cashier must've had trouble with the hanar. Brian could understand why; the evangelical giant jellyfish are hard to work with. Thirteen years ago, when on patrol with Toby, they had to break up a bar fight with one where it had wrapped itself around a drunk krogan and was strangling him to death. Punching them does no good—it just softly devours your fist and glows a bright blue. They ended up shocking it with tasers, which made its muscles spasm and broke the krogan's arm, but it let go after the five seconds of voltage finished coursing through its body.

Another yell, much sharper than before, percolated from under the bathroom door. The scream was familiar to Brian—it was a scream encased in fear and terror. He has heard it a million times in his line of work and it still lets a cold chill play hopscotch down his spine. Brian unrolled an assiduous line of toilet paper and wiped as fast as he could, then stood up, pants still mummifying his ankles. He grabbed the crossword puzzle that had been encrypted with Toby's location and had to hide it, destroy it even. Its encrypted information was tattooed into his brain. He didn't physically need it anymore.

Brian put his earpiece in and switched to the local channel to see if Andrea Strong had issued an order of sorts.

He hoped the yelling was not involved with this covert operation. The money was too much to lose to a misfire due to one of the nine idiots screwing up.

He shoved the earpiece into his ear and caught Andrea saying, "They have completed their assignment, but know too much. Brown Recluse and Funnel Web, exterminate them all."

"_Wha_?" Brian's confusion left him standing in the stall with his pants down. The door to the bathroom exploded open like it had been assaulted by a boot. Someone was after Brian. They wanted him and the other nine men dead.

"_Iapetus_?"

The voice was Red's.

"Red!"

"Get out of the stall!"

Brian pulled out his handgun and pointed it at the pale white door, aiming at center of mass. Brian dared not pull up his pants—he couldn't risk giving Red an opportunity to kill him, if he was here to do so.

"How do I know you are not going to take me out?" asked Brian.

Brian could hear the earpiece whisper static into his ear.

"Because those guys in the black suits are the ones we need to be afraid of! I saw them stab the big guy in the group... _oh_, I don't remember his name. No one else noticed it except for our guys who were keeping tabs on the men in the black suits. I have never seen anyone move like that."

Red tore open the stall and his blue eyes widened at the assigned pistol Brian had pointed at Red's chest, then to Brian's exposed genitals.

"Bad timing."

"That's an understatement," said Red.

Red pulled him out of the stall and Brian watched the bathroom door while blindly clutching for his underwear, belt, and pants. Brian took the earpiece out of his skull and set it onto the counter when the politician congratulated her former employees on their excellence. Listening to her nonchalant taunts would put him into a frenzy. Going into a frenzy would make him mad and being mad lowers intelligence and causes rash decision making.

Brian peered at Red.

Hilliard stared down the coiled throat of the handgun Red was holding.

"Iapetus, I am not taking the chance. For all I know, you are going to kill me too."

Staring down Death's neck, Brian never would have thought his life was going to end like this, in some bleached bathroom with his pants down and balls hanging out.

He tried to think of something to say to Red that would make him stand down from blowing a fist sized hole in Brian's head, but the best he could manage was, "Hey, fuck you."

Without closing his eyes, Brian watched Red's finger jerk the trigger.

This was it.

"What?"

Brian never thought he would hear the most dumbfounded _what_ in the afterlife.

"What?" Brian asked back. Brian noticed that he was still pantsless in the bathroom and Red was also still standing there.

"Those bastards welded the triggers on their pistols!"

"Good for me."

Brian pulled his killface on and threw his own issued pistol as hard as he could at Red's face. Red, most likely being ex-military, dodged the handgun with insect-like reflexes. The tumbling pistol shattered the mirror behind Red. Not bothering to talk Red out of killing him, Brian took the initiative and sunk a fist right into Red's chest. The orange haired man sucked in and doubled over. Without notice, Red's head exploded.

"_Gah, fuck_!"

Brian fell backwards and with the utmost horror, watched the headless body crash into the floor on its chest. Flecks of blood, hair, and skull spattered Brian and he spit out a tooth that was not his. Brian plied at a skull fragment jutting out of his arm while spitting out pieces of skull and hair onto his unprotected lap.

One time on the vids, Brian was watching a cooking show that lets viewers take an uncomfortably intimate tour into what a cow processing plant looked like. It was a privately run and owned shop somewhere in Scotland back on Earth that humanely killed cows by firing a compressed air powered piston into the skulls of cows to basically render them a giant, squirming vegetable. They then hung them up by the hind legs and slit their throats. The warm blood would splatter in a little stall creating a nightmarish, grotesque scene that never bothered Brian because those cows were tasty food.

This bathroom, however, looked about the same, but... that was a _human _whose head just exploded for no reason at all. What in the _hell _just happened?

Brian stared at the earpiece on the counter that he just took out of his head. Inside of the hook that clips behind the ear, he could see plastic explosive packed into the clear rubber. The earpiece on the counter popped, shooting smoke and plastic debris into Brian's face and fragmented the counter. He went into the fetal position as water from the plumbing showered the room from a jutting pipe that used to be a sink.

Brian's worse fears were being realized.

The politician was using them as a temporary shield just in case something happened while she ran her errands. Realizing she had completed the mission with success and with no resistance, instead of paying them, she decided to kill them off.

Apparently, they have seen too much, according to Andrea Strong.

What did he see?

Brian saw nothing out of the ordinary!

He gaped at the gore in the bathroom. The bloody water was coalescing together.

It looked like liquid rose petals swirling down the drain.

Smoke and dust persisted in the room's air, coddling Brian with a finely pounded powder from the white composite countertop that had just disintegrated. The explosion should have caught everyone's attention outside the bathroom. The police, or worse, the two suited men named after spiders will be coming for him. Laying on the ground with his pants almost blown off is not going to give him a tactical advantage. Brian crawled back into the bathroom stall, lifted up the top of the toilet where the flushing levers rested and put the sheet of paper in there. It would melt in the water, but seeing that the sensor to the toilet flusher was destroyed by a piece of the counter, he couldn't flush it down the toilet.

The door to the bathroom groaned open.

Brian stopped breathing.

All he could hear was the water tap-dancing on the floor.

A reflection of high polished black leather shoes walked without noise towards his stall, the door shut.

Brian's machine pistol was a finger space away from his hand with the safety off.

It called for its master—it yearned for blood, especially in the name of revenge. Brian's killface was still activated. He grabbed his machine pistol and slingshotted it towards the door where one of the spiders blotted out the light from over the sink. Brian basked in the spider's shadow and again, had a staring competition with the eyeless socket of a handgun. A concussive wave crashed into Brian's face as the spider shot at him, the black suited man's bullet going wide, causing the ceramic tiles of the bathroom wall behind him to lightly dust his shoulders in white power. Brian on the other hand, did not miss.

A six shot burst cleaved into the spider's chest and exploded out of his back, the pellets entrenching themselves into the wall behind.

It had been many years since Brian had killed a man, especially a trained killer like himself.

Brian repositioned his iron sights as the hard recoil softened to nothing and yet, the man was still standing, his pistol still pointed at Brian. Startled, Brian put another shot at the suited man, this time tearing off his hand as a round _slammed _into the assailant's weapon. With his good hand, the spider lunged at Brian's neck, not making a noise—not shouting in pain. Hardly believing what he was witnessing, not able to comprehend this monster's tenacity, Brian grabbed the man's arm and Hilliard flipped the spider face down. Brian yanked the suited man's arm behind his back and stood up, pulling the man's arm with all his body weight, suddenly feeling the shoulder dislocated and could see the spider's forearm break in half. The man merely grunted and tried standing up, but Brian stomped on his head, his open mouth biting the ceramic rim of the toilet, breaking his jaw, and cut into his skull, crushing it. The spider released a breath of wet soapy air and laid motionless, leaking red from the dozen or so holes in his body.

Nothing... _nothing _could have withstood that kind of beating. The first burst from his machine pistol should have killed the man where he stood. Brian whispered a necklace of curses under his breath and pulled his pants up. Brain and skull and blood washed his nether regions. He tasted Red in his mouth and could feel parts of his old ally grating between his legs. It felt like he had wet sand where it's most unwelcome. Brian washed his face with the fountain of water gushing from the wall and if he ate breakfast this morning, he would have thrown it up. With the leftover pieces of mirror, Brian looked at himself. Walking out in public like this—covered in blood and bits of hair was going to attract attention, big time. The man who stared back at him was unrecognizable, his killface has evolved into something much, much worse in the mirror, cracks spider webbing from the impact point of Brian's hurled pistol.

Brian cupped more water in his hands and fervently tried to wash away the mask on his face, but like a fixed tattoo, it did not budge or melt away like a waxed twin head you would see in a museum. Brian stared at the pistol he was assigned earlier. The trigger was welded on a permanent safety and most likely had a tracking device planted in it. He grabbed both Red's and his, and threw them in a working toilet, then flushed.

Having universal bathrooms and plumbing accessible to cater even krogans had just saved his life. The tracking devices in the weapons taking a nice road trip in the sewers should confuse the other spider and Andrea Strong, giving him a head start in getting the hell off the Citadel.

The bathroom was flooded with blood saturated water, a headless body, and another body that was more related to a colander than a human being. Brian opened the door and he noticed the store was empty. Hearing three full grown men go at it along with detonations of explosive charges and multiple gunshots would clear anyone out. Brian remembered the page in the crossword puzzle. He thought about going back to flush it down an operational toilet, but it will have disintegrated in the toilet tank by the time police and the crime scene investigators arrived.

He needed to get the hell out of here as fast as possible anyways.

Brian walked into the street and could see everyone's faces were riddled with fear and unadulterated revulsion. Brian counted eight people laying in the street, the remnants of their heads looked like red glass shattered ornaments that had been filled with blood and gelatin. The few asari women who had children were shielding their eyes or had their heads burrowed into their chests while quickly walking away from the scene. The Widow stared down from the sky, mocking the bodies and quickly realized the wicked symbolism in its name due to what it had just watched unfold.

Brian, doing what he does best, melted into the crowd and disappeared in search for a ship off the Citadel and Toby who lived on Bekenstein's capital, Milgrom.

He was going to need Pira's help.

The hunt had begun.


	4. Chapter Three - Acceleration

**The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter Three - Acceleration**

Gia Toshiko grabbed her whetstone that had been bundled in a sopping towel and crashed it onto the stainless steel counter top of the 21 Hour Diner stationed in Milgrom Interstellar Spaceport. Placing her knife at a twenty-degree angle, she swept it from hilt to tip—the crescendo from high carbonate steel blade against stone sounded remarkably like her teeth pulverizing each other out of frustration, rage, and the need to hit something again.

Gia took a quick glance over the bar at the breakfast crowd that was swelling, growing ever bigger and more intense, much like the sun outside. The news from the vids said something about record breaking high temperatures for this month of the year on Milgrom.

Five passes on each side of the blade, then four passes, then three and so on. Her knives, both her eight inch chef's knife and the paring knife could get so sharp that they would sometimes bite into the white acrylic cutting boards.

She did not care—the sharper the better.

A dull knife is more dangerous than a sharp one.

Gia put the whetstone in a drawer and grabbed the honing steel used for straightening the blade of kitchen cutlery. Without watching what she was doing—more concentrated on the vids spewing out of the holographic television on the wall—she hellaciously brushed the knife against the shaft of steel.

A man with an orange tan, fake brown hair, and a plastered smile greeted the diner with an overly enthusiastic _good morning Milgrom!_

Gia glowered at the screen and swallowed some blood from the fight at Bill's place earlier in the morning where One Thumb punched her in the mouth. The man's voice on the news made her sick. He seemed to grab her head, which felt like a balloon of blood, and shake it with a maniacal and sinister look on his smiling face.

The 21 Hour Diner was her surrogate home where she could escape the insanity of life. She considered her brain a mélange mass of matter not able to distinguish insanity from the normal. Working in a kitchen was, at times, _insane. _The fast pace kept her heart rate at a constant sprint. Working behind a hot-top was the only time she felt in control of herself and her surroundings.

Insanity feels normal, normal feels insane.

If she in fact _was _insane, she would not think that she was. As of now, she thought she had succumbed to the crazy, which means she _isn't _crazy.

Or something like that.

Confusing herself, Gia noticed the diced onions in the stamped steel tray were low. She dragged herself to the walk in cooler, grabbed a bag full of locally grown onions, and went to work.

Maybe these were grown by the agrarian farmers she met earlier this morning. The idea repulsed her as she thought about their dirty hands touching the crumbly onion skins.

Gia almost threw the bag into the trash and incinerated them.

_Slice off both ends._

_Cut through the dried skin._

_Peel first layer away._

_Cut in half._

_Curl fingers._

_Slice horizontally four times without going through the end._

_Slice vertically four times without going through the end._

_Dice._

_Scoop cubes onto blade, throw into bin._

_Repeat._

Her knife danced a tango with the flicks of Gia's wrists. She was fast.

_Really_ fast.

It took a solid fifteen seconds to fire through an onion. Her dad taught Gia the basics of cooking, and her mother repeatedly drilled her afterwards. Working in the kitchen was therapeutic and Gia being a countertop kid, had watched her dad and mom cook whenever dinner was prepared. Back at home, there was a spot on the granite countertop that was not as lustrous as the rest of the counter where she used to sit.

That was _her_ spot as a kid. That was where she sat and watched her parents cook dinner for her dad and a few close family friends.

Her father being the only one to cook for, the dinner portions were small except for when they would have dinner parties. Even then, her dad would use dextro-ingredients, cook something up, grind it into a paste, and sterilize it for both Gia and Mom to eat.

That was all before The Incident four years back.

The food her dad would make was always excellent and they never once got sick. It was a pleasant change from the nutrient paste they had to eat most of the time. Now, if her dad would have made some of his old food nowadays, Gia would not be able to swallow his dinners—it would just cloy her throat with the bitter taste of betrayal.

Gia's knife stuttered as she reached into the plastic mesh bag and found she had diced her way through the whole bag of onions without taking notice. Gia threw the sack away and turned around, leaning on the cutting station. A white marble bar looked over the kitchen so customers had the opportunity to watch the chef at work, and Gia being Gia, they were always entertained, be it the banter in the kitchen or the line-cook's skills. The 21 Hour Diner had three people in it, and Ms. Worthing, the waitress during the morning shift, was taking their orders, asking the men what they wanted to drink—decaf or normal, no pulp or pulp.

She liked this diner and had been told that it was modeled after the 1950s diners back on Earth. White and black tiles checkered the floor while the booths and stools were chrome-clad, coupled with red, metallic-flaked vinyl cushions. The restaurant held forty people, thirty-two in the booths and eight at the bar topped with a white marble slab. Pictures of old American vehicles hung on the walls in white and black, greasers in leather jackets and blue jeans sat on the hoods of hotrods with cigarettes hanging out of their handsome mouths, and a famous musician's face named The King, or Elvis, or something like that, was nailed just about everywhere. An ancient jukebox sat in the corner near the front door with vintage human music records leafed inside the wooden box wreathed in yellow, blue, and red neon lights. It was a time machine for just about every human, and a museum to everyone else.

"Gia, my dear. Did I hear you got into a fight earlier?"

A voice that always puts a smile on her lips drifted from the back entrance of the restaurant near the bathrooms. Executive chef and owner, Athena Totopolus, entered with her sunshades, chef's whites, and blue and white striped pants. She mouth breathed, unintentionally whistling through the gap in her two front teeth. Grabbing a scrunchy, she wrestled with her long salt-and-pepper hair and put it up into a ponytail. Gia jealously watched Chef wrap her hair with the preciseness of a savant moving chess pieces into an inevitable checkmate.

"Has word really spread that fast?" asked Gia, frustrated by the gossip that surrounded this place, and especially her.

"Yeah, like a grease fire. Gia, you are a superstar to the people who work here, in a Jeffery Dahmer sense."

"Didn't he eat humans?"

"Yeah."

"I am not that bad. _Yet_."

Gia snapped her teeth at chef and blowing an imaginary wisp of hair out of her face, said, "Two stupid bosh'tets... I mean _bastards_,were jerking around with me and grabbed my arm. I embarrassed them with a bottle of alcohol and my fist."

Athena threw her head back and laughed. Gia could hear every single cigarette she had ever smoked in that contagion of a laugh.

"I heard you drew a knife on them?" asked Athena, wearing an apron around her thick midsection, making two large bunny ears with the strings behind her back.

Gia grabbed her knife and slammed it into the cutting board, it stood straight up much like her middle finger she flicked at the two men when she passed them as they walked out of the bathroom about fifteen minutes ago.

"The spaceport cop probably saved me from going to jail," said Gia, grabbing an apron herself, noticing Ms. Worthing getting the last order from an older man who sat at the bar. Gia noticed it was the same old man with the bowtie that had called her "a disturbed young woman" earlier at Bill's bar who watched the whole fight go down. She noticed his eyes were still glazed over, like he was not completely _there_.

Gia swallowed more blood and gently prodded at the feathered fronds surrounding the gash on her lip. The saltiness tasted good.

Chef Athena Totopolus grabbed a flat, rectangular spatula and braced herself for the first orders.

"You need to be careful, sweetie."

"I'm as bitter as black coffee, chef."

"I don't want you going to jail. You have a very bright future ahead of you, dear. The thing with the frying basket a while back was bad enough."

Chef heard a single syllable escape Gia's throat in protest.

"Don't _but_ me, little missy!"

"Yes, Chef."

Another person entered from the back door, Gia's co-line cook, Bernie Thorndale, her wicked big brother of sorts and poisonous influence. He was a good guy, though. Gia, clasping onto her griddle spatula, eyed the tattoo sleeves on Bernie.

"Who said something about jail?" asked Thorndale, eyeing the clock with The King on it, his two arms the minute and hour dials, making sure he was not late again, or he was going to get a verbal thrashing by Chef, whose tongue is sharper than Gia's.

"Little Miss Toshiko here almost killed someone, Bernie," said Chef in a way that made Gia feel like she had just failed a life goal. Her voice was flooded with disappointment.

"Oh?" asked Bernie, a smile crossing his face.

"I got into _another _bar fight at Bill's place."

"Right on, girl!" he shouted, holding a fist for her to bump.

Chef whipped Bernie with her hand towel.

Gia punched it.

"Did you kick their asses?" he asked, putting on an apron while chewing his tongue. To the average person eating here, Bernie would be instantly judged as a troublemaking servile lowlife. His tattoos were of naked women and curse words, yet intricately laced into the art were verses penned by old human poets like Walt Whitman's _I Sing the Body Electric_. He did not care what others thought of him, he was very bright, and was respected. He had created some bold specials they sold in the mornings and people enjoyed his enthusiasm in the kitchen. His dark hair was shaved to a mere stubble on his scalp, he had a robust goatee, slender eyes, and was as fit as any Marine. Gia had promised herself that she would win an arm wrestle with him one day. She has been trying to be the victor ever since she started working with him. After their shifts, when she doesn't have school, they go at it—best of three.

"Seriously, Gia, you don't want to go to jail. I lived there for five years and it's not a fun place to be, you especially, being a quarian," said Bernie, his toothy grin disappearing behind the black bristles of this facial hair.

Four years ago, jail had been a serious option for Gia. Her stomach dropped thinking about it.

"Hey, Gia, I ran into Detective Landford on my way to work this morning. I guess he was returning from vacation or something."

"You saw him here at the spaceport?"

"Yeah, your buddy was looking tired. Shouldn't he be retiring soon?"

"He is _not _my buddy, Bernie," Gia hissed.

"I see you talking to him on occasion."

"So you think that makes him my buddy?"

"Well... I mean, I _guess_."

"He's supposed to look after me until I go off to college, which is soon."

Bernie, seeing Gia's cold eyes spear him like a falling icicle asked, "Why?"

_Keelah he was bold._

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Bernie, _don't_ go there," said Chef, her voice able to snap-freeze Gia's friend where he stood. Gia had an educated guess that Chef Athena was told by Detective Landford what she had done four years ago. Gia's relationship with Detective Landford was not on the best of terms. After what she had done, the detective had all the reason in the world to look after her —keep a vigilant eye on his hotpot. He was the best in the business and truly a nice guy. That tender kindness he aimed at Gia made her feel like a child, and a nutcase. Sometimes while talking to him, Gia fantasized about taking the detective's gun out of his holster and shooting him with it. Gia would never do such a thing since he had a wife, two kids, and several chocolate labs, all of whom he loved dearly. That is one thing Gia does not mess with. Never mess with family or friends, because if she did, one day she would meet someone like her who shows devout loyalty to her close ones and her day would spin into a nightmare. Even though she shows hatred towards her family, she still loves them. Even though she rarely shows kindness or affection towards her family, she still respects them.

Her father though, is a different case.

Gia looked to Ms. Worthing who was taking orders. Bernie called her a "cougar" in the walk in freezer the other day. Not familiar with the term, Gia had to ask her friend what a _cougar_ was and she laughed raucously at Bernie's definition, which resulted in Chef throwing a spoon at them from across the kitchen with her freakishly good hearing. Ms. Worthing was a good woman who had never batted an eye at Gia, since she _was_ a quarian on a very proud planet. Gia remembers her first day at work, and when introduced to Ms. Worthing, the lady did not have the slightest trace of surprise or disgust on her face. She hugged Gia as a way of introduction and since that day, Ms. Worthing has been one of her favorite people. Gia watched Ms. Worthing's lipstick caked fire-engine red lips bounce and stretch flamboyantly as she rattled off the three men's orders.

"One waffle crispy, double order of bacon. Next order, three egg omelet with tomato and basil well-done, wheat toast no butter. Last but _certainly _not least is toast with two eggs over-easy, no black pepper!"

Ms. Worthing's black lip liner was too much today. Those lips took up half of her pale face and the red blush patted on her cheeks competed with the rising sun. When the waitress turned to grab the decaf coffee pot, her hair was static, like it had been spawned from a mold that belonged on a plastic doll's head. Gia had to guess Ms. Worthing was about ten years older than her mom, maybe in her fifties. Then again, quarians and humans age differently, so comparing was as futile as eating soup with a fork.

"I'll get the first ticket," called out Gia, breaking her gaze away from Ms. Worthing who was strutting towards the older man who had moved from a booth to the bar. Gia ladled on the waffle mix into the corrugated waffle iron, closed the top and flipped it. The timer blinked at three minutes. Gia grabbed six pieces of raw bacon, slapped them onto the hot-top, and waited. The other two were feverishly at work as well.

"Do you really think I'm disturbed?" asked Gia to the bow tied man who now sat at the bar, sipping his coffee black with five packets of sugar in his mug. Gia had modified her mask's filters so that she could smell more of her surroundings and the scent of coffee was enticing, same with bacon.

_Keelah did bacon smell good._

"I have never seen a quarian chef before," said the old man.

"I am not a chef. I am just a cook."

"Pardon my ignorance, but what's the difference?" His tone was cocky.

Gia stared into the old man's glassy eyes. He was not completely there, like something had been torn from his soul, yet she sensed the same amount of energy behind those eyes as a jackhammer.

"A chef is someone who has professional training and runs a kitchen. Athena over there is a chef. Well, her official title is 'executive chef'."

Gia threw a thumb at her boss while flipping the bacon. Athena looked at the old man and smiled. The old man with the bow tie did the same as if he had seen her before.

"How is your quarian line-cook, Chef Athena?" asked the old man.

"Even though she cannot taste anything we cook, she is excellent. Many people have told her she salts food to perfection."

"My parents taught me well," admitted Gia, thinking of her father as she swallowed yet more blood and probed the open wound.

Hot, sharp pain ejected from the gash.

"Your father cooks as well? He isn't a quarian though, right?"

Gia shot him a sharpened glance that heeded prudence to the old man.

"He is a human like you, Chef," continued the man.

Two light blue eyes, like the cone of flame on the end of a welding torch, burned into Gia's mask, melting her glacial eyes.

"I don't like to talk about him, so if we can move to another subject that would be nice," said Gia sharply.

"What happened to your biological father?"

Gia's grip on the spatula tightened and Gia leaned on the bar, pushing her masked face mere centimeters away from this man's head. People like this were the systemic disease that plagued the population, and infected Gia's nervous system to the point where her rage-switch turned on and could never flick off.

"Hey, Gia, back off," said Bernie.

"Why do _you _care?" asked Gia, her eyes molten with rage, ignoring Bernie's request. "I have only one true dad, and I am just a line cook wanting to go to culinary school."

"Hey, Gia, do you know when your application got accepted?" asked Chef, grabbing the orange cloth wrapped around Gia's shoulders, pulling her away from the older hag. Gia wanted to grab the man by his neck, drag him over the counter, and slam his skull against the hot-top, serving his face along with the three pieces of bacon. A coy smile was stitched on his face as Gia was pulled away from him and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his temple.

A well dressed businesswoman with gratuitous blonde hair sat down at the bar one seat away from the old man.

"Wow, I have not seen a place like this in ages," she said, rifling through her black leather purse in search of something. "I feel like I should be seeing everything in black and white."

"I designed this place myself—poured my life savings into this restaurant," said Chef.

Gia forked out the waffle, put it on a plate, scooped Chef's hand churned butter in the center of the waffle and dusted powdered sugar on top. With a scoop of her spatula, she slammed the three pieces of bacon on a smaller white plate, cracking two of them in half. Gia tapped the nipple of the bell and Ms. Worthing strutted over and took the plates to her customer.

"It's beautiful," said the woman with a blissful smile. Gia watched her lithe fingers spread on pinkish lipstick—her lips puckered and _kissed _the air.

Gia had to admit, it was nice not having to wake up every morning to do her hair, pick out clothes, and apply makeup in front of a mirror for hours, but deep down inside, she watched this blonde woman with the utmost jealousy. It was a part of the human culture that she wanted to take part in every once in awhile.

It is nice, however, to just have her suit take care of everything. She wondered how many months had been wasted in this woman's life by making herself beautiful every morning. It made Gia suddenly take pity in her and of the wasted time.

Gia glared at her in disgust.  
She was the most... _womanliest _woman she had ever seen in her life. Gia could bet that she was born with high heels on, vials of nail polish clasped in both hands, demanding the midwife paint her toes lilac. Gia watched the stupid ditz fumble with some vitamins and her lipstick container. The blonde laughed at herself, pulling a sheet of golden hair out of her face.  
The crowd behind the glass windows of the restaurant began filling with people, most of whom were tugging their suitcases around and gawping at their wristwatches. The hard clatter of dress shoes outside the restaurant seemed to dance to a song booming from the jukebox. The scintillating sun reflected off the white tarmac outside, unleashing undulant legions of vaporous soldiers marching towards the terminal windows—the sun wanting to invade the cool air behind the cyan glass. Gia silently named off several civilian spacecrafts being dollied on the landing pad.  
"How can I help you, sweetie?" asked Ms. Worthing, pulling at her bra from under her black top.  
"A fruit salad and some orange juice," said the woman.  
"Is that all, ma'am."  
"For now, yes." The blonde woman eyed Ms. Worthing's nametag. "Thank you, Sherry."  
"Not a problem, dear."

Ms. Worthing's voice could give Gia diabetes.  
Her favorite waitress scooped away the menu, her fake red nails clicking against the plastic bindings of the menu's page and off the white marble countertop. Ms. Worthing noticed Gia staring at her hands and fired off a smile.

"I forgot to say good morning to you, honey-pie. How are you?"

"I've been better."

Gia thought of Fireneck and One Thumb.

"Did you win?" asked Ms. Worthing.

"Huh?"

Gia was taken aback, thinking that Ms. Worthing had just read her mind.

"I heard you got into a fight. Did you win?"

"What do you think?"

"I bet you destroyed their masculinity," laughed Ms. Worthing.

"The word 'destroy' is an understatement."

"_Eviscerate_ is a good one," suggested Bernie. "You eviscerated their masculinity into fictional ribbons."

"How eloquent of you, Bernie," said Gia, smiling.

This action of grinning felt funny on her face.  
Gia watched a turian, one of the biggest ones she had ever seen in her life, walk in and take a seat at the bar, furthest away from the blond woman. He humbly looked around and locked eyes with Gia, then curiously stared at her wristwatch. She quickly turned away and began slicing more lemons into wedges. Gia's mom and dad had told her to beware of a big turian named Skave. They had shown her pictures of the man who hunted her parents on the Citadel ten years ago, and this one did not match. Besides, he seemed nice, bashful.

The story of what happened to her parents ten years ago were vague and Gia did not have all pieces of the puzzle. It hurt them to talk about it.  
"Sorry sir," started Chef, "but we do not cater to dextro-based people."  
Chef tapped her spatula on the counter tops like a bat trying to navigate itself with echolocation in a darkened cave, only occupied by sable shadows and crippling black.  
The turian who sat down ignored Chef and played with a ketchup bottle, eyeing it like a laboratory specimen that had escaped an experimentation.  
"Sir," tried Chef.  
"Oh, yes?" said the turian, blinking curiously at Chef's voice.  
Gia could _feel _his eyes heating the watch on her wrist until it became unbearable. Spinning around, Gia walked over to the turian, and lifted a finger at Chef, motioning she was going to take care of this customer.  
"We don't serve dextros here," said Gia, grabbing the ketchup bottle from him and placing it into the metal rack that held packages of grape jelly, coffee cream, mustard, syrup and napkins.  
The turian continued to stare at Gia's watch with finesse.  
"Where did you get that watch?" asked the turian, gently and cautiously reaching towards her thin wrist. Sensing a little quarian hand about to collide with his face, the turian asked, "May I?"  
Gia, also just as curious about this turian, let him touch the watch. She analyzed the way he carefully observed the hands of the watch tick and studied the fine quarian craftsmanship.  
"If you are curious, my dad bought it for me," said Gia. "Long ago."  
Gia's heart suddenly stopped for a moment upon the realization that the turian's hand projecting from his black jacket stemmed from a synthetic arm.  
"Were you in the military?" asked Gia, rather bluntly.  
"Yes, I was."  
"Did it hurt?" she asked, sensing a story behind how he lost his appendage.  
"Gia, don't ask about his war wounds," said Bernie, setting a fruit salad bowl with care in front of the blonde woman.  
"No no, it's okay," said the turian, done scrutinizing the watch. "I lost it fighting a krogan who was in blood rage."  
"No shit," said Gia.  
"He grabbed it as I was closing a door to my squad's armored personnel carrier and quite literally tore it off through a five centimeter gap between the door and the side of the vehicle."  
This was the reason why Gia enjoyed working at this place. The stories that wandered in here were just mind blowing, or arm tearing.

"Were you a Marine?" she asked.

"Something like that."

"Blackwatch?"

The turian tilted his head and said, "I didn't know-"

Gia cut him off, "I am interested in military history."

"Not many girls are."

"I'm not like many girls."

"I can see."

Gia crossed her arms and said, "Turian Blackwatch. I'll bet credits on it."

"You caught me," admitted the turian, bowing his head.

"That's so cool. How good are you with a rifle?"

"Very."

Gia felt herself getting giddy.

"I can shoot the eyes out of a turian silhouette at two hundred yards."

The turian chuckled and said, "I can shoot the mouthpiece out of a quarian target at two hundred meters off hand."

Gia smiled and said, "I can do that laying down. I lack upper body strength, though."

"Is shooting a normal pastime for quarian girls?" he asked.

"Like I said, I am not your average chick. My parents taught me how to shoot."

"You're father must be a good teacher," he said.

"At shooting, yeah. Nothing else."  
The turian nodded and lifted up his sleeve and showed Gia the extent of the damage. Synthetic sinew and muscle ran up his arm and into his chest. The blonde woman cast an extraordinarily curious look.  
"It 's based off of geth technology, you know," said the turian, staring at Gia, making a connection.

"You're welcome," said Gia. "Is that arm stronger?" asked Gia, both elbows on the bar and leaning in to meet the turian's black, sparkling eyes. They reminded her of one of Bekenstein's lakes at night in the dead of winter's grip. The turian lifted a metal spoon and pinched it between two fingers, bending it.  
"Damn, that is _impressive_. I bet that helps with shooting offhand," said Gia, grabbing the spoon from him and with both hands and several groans later, twisted it back into place. "Goddamn you are a tank," she gasped, bending the silverware back to its normal shape.  
The turian laughed and eyed the blonde who was staring at him.  
"Anyways, we do not cook dextro food here, so we cannot help you with breakfast. You are more than welcome to hang out, though. Do you mind if I take a picture of your arm? That is so cool..."

"Hang around I shall do," he said, staring at the holographic television on the wall. "I just got off a flight and need to get my bearings. You know, jet lagged and yes, you can take a picture."

She snapped a picture with her omni-tool and smiled, realizing it was the second time in one day. It was the first time in a long while a genuine grin had sneaked its way onto her lips. After what happened at Bill's place, she expected to be in a bitter and insidious mood all today until this turian military dude walked in with an amazing piece of technology strapped to his chest.  
Seeing that no one else had entered the 21 Hour Diner, Gia leaned her buttocks against the counter and stared out into the crowd of people walking through the terminals.  
"I'm sorry for my ignorance, but you're a quarian, right?" asked the blonde who stabbed at a grape in her salad, chasing it around like a bead of mercury.  
Gia, realizing this woman was probably not the brightest human on the planet, humored her.  
"Yes, I am a suited monster with a weak immune system and weird feet."  
The blonde woman leaned over the bar, slowly chewing on a chunk of melon, to get a glimpse at quarian feet. Gia stuck a foot on the counter so she could get a better look at them.  
"Check these puppies out," said Gia smugly.

"Gia, feet off the counter!" screamed Chef.  
Glowering, she took her foot off the counter.  
"You do have funny looking feet," chuffed the blonde woman.  
"Hence why I showed them to you. I get a kick out of humans' faces when they see my feet."  
"To tell you the truth, I think you are beautiful. You dress nicely and I would kill to have your curves," said the woman. "Orange looks nice on you."  
Gia, having never been complimented on her looks, other than from her parents, was at a complete loss of words. Her cheeks caught fire and it quickly spread throughout her body in the form of an awkward tingling sensation. This had to be the pinnacle of her day, of her year. She had been tranquilized by the kind words, so much that she just stood there, staring at the blonde woman.  
"This is the part where you say 'thank you', my dear," said Chef, scrambling a couple of eggs.  
"I... _oh_, well thank you."  
Bernie threw his head back and laughed, shaking the room with his guttural enjoyment.  
"That is the first time I have ever seen little Gia Toshiko at a loss of words."  
"Shut your mouth!"  
Bernie continued to gloat, "The only other time I've seen you shut up was when you cut off your finger last year."  
Gia unrolled her fist and looked at the pointer finger on her left hand. About one year ago, she was running her knife through a chicken leg-quarter when she cut right through the bone of the chicken and sliced the tip of her finger off. Being a quarian, this kind of wound could easily kill her if not treated properly. Being a fast thinker but not realizing consequences, Gia cauterized the exposed flesh on the hot-top, sealing the wet, slobbering mouth made by the knife wound. Her mother almost killed her when she came home an hour later with a fever high enough to poach an egg, stubbornly refusing to go to the hospital. It didn't help that Mom had to order a replacement sleeve for her suit before the fever killed her. The bacon grease in her bloodstream from the hot-top did not help either and put her ass out for a month. Gia had thought the quarian materials used to construct suits were tough enough to withstand a fast moving blade, but it couldn't hold back the knife's one long tooth made by the best asari cutlery manufactures in the galaxy. The knife had cost her a whole month's worth of work, but was totally worth it. Now she does not talk with customers when breaking down chicken-quarters and keeps full concentration on the task at hand.  
Back at home, Gia kept her finger in a jar on her bookshelf.  
It creeps the shit out of Mom.  
Gia kept it there as a way to get a reaction out of her and has found the jar in the trash on several occasions. Periodically, Gia likes to hide it around the house where Mom would find it in the most unlikely of places like inside cabinets, in her tool chest, and under the blankets. Whenever she hears Mom shout from fright, Gia knows she found the finger. It was a funny game to play, at least from Gia's perspective. Not so much from Mom's. She hates it.  
"Seriously though, I have never seen anyone press a finger... or lack thereof on a hot-top to seal the wound. Messed up, man," said Bernie.  
Gia poked Bernie in the face with her stubby finger and he jumped back.  
"_Gah, _I can feel the bone through the suit!"  
Gia laughed and avoided Chef's towel whipping towards her bum.  
"Don't talk like that in front of the customers!"  
"Yes Chef," droned Gia and Bernie.  
The old man and blonde woman were thoroughly entertained by the banter from the cooks, while behind the shades, Chef Athena stared daggers at them both.  
"So, Gia, when should you know you got into the culinary arts program at Nos Astra's university?"  
"I put my application in a year ago, so any day now," Gia said to Chef, who tapped her way to the waffle iron with the tip of her spatula.  
"What happens if you don't get in?"  
"I will hang out around here for another year and put in another application. You know me, I am persistent. I never give up."  
"If you want, I know chefs from high-class restaurants in the city. I can get you in a more prodigious spot," said Chef, ladling waffle batter to the open mouth of the iron.  
"I like working here, but if you want to, won't stop you."  
Gia realized that having contacts with chefs were one of the best lifelines to have. Gia knew she was going to get into the school and off of this shit-hole of a planet, but a backup plan was always a worthy idea.  
"I have dreams of getting in that school," said Gia, "Much like looking through a window to my future."  
Athena tapped her way to the sink and said, "You've been having some dreams lately?"  
The old man at the bar perked up.  
Gia put a hand over her face and gently laughed through a huff, "I have been having recurring dreams lately."  
"Oh? Care to elaborate?"  
"Numbers."  
"Numbers?" asked Athena.  
"Oh here we go again," quipped Bernie. "Gia, I know your dreams are weird and clear, but have you ever heard of lucid dreaming?"  
"I have looked into that."  
Gia, since she was a little girl, has had odd dreams, much like déjà vu, but in the nocturnal world. It was of insignificant actions or things that occur in everyday life, for instance Gia dreamed of her mom making pancakes for her dad for dinner and it came true. While living through that moment, Gia had thought it was in fact déjà vu, but the dream from the previous night hit her like a freight train going full steam ahead. Recently, she had the same dream three times in the past week, each time it became clearer, yet masked itself in a fog of ambiguity—its meaning made no sense at all.  
"About your dream, Gia. Tell me about it," said Chef, her voice tapering off into a curious high-pitched tone.  
"If you laugh, I will stick my knife into you."  
Bernie chuckled, then sudden fear choked him as Gia's eyes glinted, like the sun catching the base of a blade being unsheathed.  
"Okay," started Gia. "As a kid, my dad used to sing _Humpty Dumpty_ as I went to sleep and the lines of that lullaby keep ringing in my head. I see an egg as a man's head that is shattered, like Humpty Dumpty fell off the wall with two bright yolks coming out of the same shell. Chicken twins maybe? Disturbing, right? Anyways, I see eight of them scattered on a street, well it _kind of _looks like the surface of a blue lake, or something like that. It's a dream, so nothing is really clear. But on the ridge of this lake, there is a basket of eggs—three of them sitting in this basket with a sun rising behind the three pointed eggs. As for the numbers I see floating around in the dream, I cannot discern them—all I know is that there are _four _sets of them."  
"Gia, when you go to sleep tonight and if you have that dream again, take notes on it as soon as you have it and maybe it will become clearer—maybe hold some sort of meaning when you read it over in the morning."  
"You know what? That's not a bad idea, Chef."  
_ What if my dreams really do mean something? _  
Out of the corner of Gia's eye, she noticed the turian had a slanted stare boring into her back, and the older man's eyes became a little bit more watery and bulged like a over packed water balloon.  
"Sir, are you okay?" asked Gia, afraid he would collapse into a heap from a heart attack.  
Gia traced a line to where the man was staring and she met the television. When the news presenter with the horrible tan said _breaking news just in_,everyone in the restaurant stopped eating and stared at the holograph. A graphic scene cropped on screen from what looked like a camera from the omni-tool since its quality was not the best. A man staggered onto a street clasping his belly. Gia could see red threads of blood sewed into the hand grasping his stomach. He dropped to his knees and his head exploded. The cameraman, obviously shocked, jerked away from the headless body and recorded their feet as they ran away from the ghastly scene.  
Everyone on the street screamed.  
"_Shit_," exclaimed Gia, gripping the marble counter. "I'm not complaining or anything, but isn't that a bit _too _harsh to show on public television? I mean kids watch this."  
Still entranced by the television, everyone in the restaurant cupped their mouths.  
_ "Earlier this morning on the Citadel, what looked like a terrorist attack occurred on the Citadel Wards outside King's Bank. Eight armed men have been decapitated by explosive devices set into their heads."_  
The news camera switched to an asari reporter standing on the street where the incident happened.  
The man with the orange tan said, _"Now, Rona, can you tell us what has developed? Fill us all in, please. We're sitting here in the dark."_  
The man leaned forward, genuinely curious and concerned. Rona took a moment to answer since the signal had to travel to the next solar system over.  
_ "Sure, Gabe. What appears to be a terrorist attack happened this morning here on the Citadel Wards. While details are fuzzy, there was one man who seems to be at the head of this, say police."  
_ Images appeared on the screen that obviously came from a security camera. A bald man covered in blood walked out of a building and disappeared in the crowd wearing... _no._  
_ No, it can't be._  
Gia physically recoiled and knocked the clarified butter ladle out of its container.  
It clattered to the floor.  
Gia felt like vomiting.  
"Sorry, I will go get a new one from the back," she said to Chef, who would not look away from the screen. She obviously didn't hear her.  
Gia's world spun, her foundations rocked, and what her parents had said about their dirty past was shining through, with some polish rubbed in by the media.  
That man on the security camera was wearing her dad's old leather jacket. Gia would recognize it anywhere.  
Back at home, when she lived on the Citadel, she had seen numerous pictures of her dad wearing that same jacket—before their lives were changed by the turian Spectre known as Skave Arterius. Searching for a ladle, her quavering hands fumbled into some cups sending about five of them diving onto the floor, two of them breaking.  
The news from the television got even weirder.  
"_Eight men have been found decapitate on the street, one additional man in a bathroom, and another unnamed, unidentifiable man has been shot twelve times in the chest and his head crushed. Security cameras have identified the murder suspect as Brian Hilliard, who ten years ago, deceived Citadel Security and a Council Spectre in a scam that has been heavily covered up. Details are sparse. This man is the Citadel's number one fugitive and should be considered armed and dangerous."_  
"_Uncle Brian_," gasped Gia. She felt suddenly claustrophobic and choked in her suit. Concrete seemed to be pouring into her throat, crushing and suffocating her. A spider silently built its web in the corner of the kitchen and Gia stared at it, her eyes feeling like they were about to burst from the gravity of this situation. The spider sat in waiting, wishing for a fly or insect to land in its web for it to devour—melt its insides and suck them out without a hint of remorse. It plucked silent arpeggios, hoping to seduce a winged insect into its silk harp like a siren. Everything Gia's parents had fought to keep secret was about to unravel and Uncle Brian had tossed the roll of twine down the stairs that could only lead to a crucible of pain, heat, and death.  
He had sparked this situation's ignition and no doubt, he was the wick that was going to lead whoever was after him to Gia and her parents.  
Gia had little memories of Uncle Brian, but they were all positive. Her mom and dad talked about him all the time, and still mention him every once in a while. She remembers him pestering Mom and giving her spacecraft rides around the apartment, but he was now a murderer stuck on the Citadel?  
Gia, while still winded, turned back to look at the television and saw _eight _people dead on the streets, their heads cracked open.  
_ Oh Keelah._  
What she had just said about her dream fit perfectly with what was playing on the news station and everything that was coming out of Rona's purple mouth fit _perfectly_. Gia fought the urge to dry heave and had that prophetic feeling that something she had seen in her dream had actually come true.  
_ No!_  
The asari reporter said there were _ten _total bodies in this incident. The basket of eggs, the two bright yellow yolks, the sunrise, and the numbers still made no sense, nor did they have any sort of relation in this matter. She was crazy linking the weird dream and a terrorist attack. The coincidence that Uncle Brian had a hand in this was merely a one in a trillion chance, same with the eight bodies on the street.  
_But the street was blue, just like the lake in my dream that the bodies laid on._  
None of the people sitting in the diner seemed to have noticed the relevance.  
The old man with the blue eyes, however, did.  
Gia looked towards the old bag and she saw him staring _right _at her.  
He averted his gaze so quickly, Gia felt like her mind was playing games.  
"Oh fuck this," Gia hissed under her breath. She tore off her apron and clocked out of the restaurant. "Hey Chef, I am heading off to school, I just now remembered I forgot to do some homework," she lied.  
Still, everyone was glued to the television. Gia grabbed her knife, wrapped it up and slid it into her Velcro and nylon case. Her backpack sat above the walk-in freezer.  
She grabbed it too.  
Something was very wrong with this whole situation and she had to think about it on her own. There was a sudden presence in the 21 Hour Diner that congealed her blood, turning it into a sour, fermented paste. Before leaving the kitchen, Gia turned around to check out the spider who once proudly combed his web.  
Nothing lurked in the silken home.  
The spider disappeared as if it was a figment of her imagination. Somewhere out of his web, he hunted—chasing its prey down using the shadows, hidden killer instinct, and intelligence.  
Gia, with her head low, walked out of the restaurant without saying a word to her friends.  
"Hey Gia, I'll see you tomorrow. Be ready for a fourteen hour shift, baby!"  
Gia ignored Bernie, throwing him a cold shoulder. He whispered an insult that was clogged to an indiscernible mutter by the newscaster with the orange tan and white teeth.  
"Gia, wait!"  
Chef Athena rounded the bar, pushed past Ms. Worthing, and scuttled towards the exit. Gia, not wanting to talk to anyone, jogged into a pack of people trying to catch flights and melted into the crowd. As she avoided being knocked by the bustling crowd, she felt someone other than Chef following her.  
It could be her parent's paranoia taking strides into her subconscious, but her sixth sense was strong and usually right, her being a female especially. Gia dared not turn around. She had to get to the parking garage, jump on her ride, and get the hell out of here.  
Chef Athena's voice was drowned out by the controlled chaos of the space port.  
Gia's world had been upended and shaken by a force not even she could control—it stripped her of the understanding she had before, the safety she so recklessly threw out the window, and the distant threat that had so cautiously kept its distance had crept closer than ever before and she could feel its insidious, sinuous breath breathing right down the nape of her neck, melting through her suit in search of virgin, supple flesh to ravage.  
Gia could no longer hear Chef Athena's voice as she walked past Bill's bar and into the main food-court before the security checkpoints.  
Gia checked her watch—the rare one her father gave her before he committed the unthinkable.  
School was two hours from now.  
Her backpack sat heavy on her back.  
The straps squeezed her thin shoulders like it too knew they were being pursued.  
Gia used a shopping window's reflection to look behind her, just like her father had taught her, as did the self-defense classes.  
She could spot nothing out of the ordinary.  
_ My heart feels like it is going to zing out of my chest._  
Her dream had come true. It had to have, but there were _nine_ men that had been decapitated, not eight. The numbers she had in her head made no sense at all either, as with Humpty Dumpty, or the blinding, melting yolk that spilled out of their heads and the heat of the sunrise. Ever since she was a kid, these dreams _did _come true. Gia, being a person of science, hard facts, common sense, and not believing in magic, rejected these _insane _happenings and replaced them with the thought that they were astronomical coincidences. Or her mind had taken two variables, put them together, and created an equation that had mysterious and connecting conclusions—a self-fulfilling prophecy.  
What if...  
_ No._  
Gia walked faster and grabbed the keys to her vehicle, clasping the plastic base in her fist and wedging the metal key out between her fingers.  
She passed the movie theater that no one was lining up to use, passed a spa and then the flight museum, where models of the Wright brothers Kitty Hawk aircraft, Saturn V rockets, and Alliance Everest Class vessels stood poised, encased in glass and suspended in mid flight, their noses pointing towards the stars, fiber optics that made up the ceiling of the small museum.  
The invading thought shouldered its way back into her conscious.  
_ What if I predicted the terrorist attack on the Citadel?_  
No, the thought was _crazy_.  
How could the human brain, while sleeping, predict something? This dream was a week old and she did not understand it the first time it had paid an unwelcome visit during REM sleep. Now, it was clear—parts of it, at least.  
The numbers.  
The lullaby.  
The hot yolks.

The sunrise.

The lake.  
None of that made sense.  
How would it make sense? Dreams are scattered thoughts mixed with emotions that do not correlate with much of anything.  
The automatic doors beyond baggage claim lay in wait—wishing to part for her. Baggage claim had become more crowded as the sheep waited for their personal belongings to sail out, be tugged by their owners where their hands would moor to the leather grips. Milgrom's sun, now a white-hot disk in the air, shined through the white steel ribs of the building dozens of meters up making the polished, sun-bleached bone colored floor fire caustic rays of light into her face. The cyan panels of glass lodged between the ribs softened the sun's white burning mane to a cooler blue, though her hangover did not take too lightly to this. She walked under the shade of indoor palms to cool her hangover.  
It punished her by throwing a temper tantrum inside the deepest part of her skull, throwing fists and orchestrated kicks.  
Blood _throbbed_ and _jerked_ past her inner ear.  
Her pulse quickened and sweat freckled her brow.  
Gia still sensed she was being followed and the hostility of this unknown predator could be felt.  
The Devil on her right shoulder spurred her along, poking her in the side of the head with his trident. Even him, who Gia hated, was trying to help her get a move on.  
The automatic doors opened and she was greeted by the roar of the space station. Jet powered ships took off, taxi's beeped, vehicles whirred and moaned, and people spoke quickly into their omni-tools as if auctioning off items. Outside, under this oppressive heat, she felt vulnerable, naked, and in the crosshairs of a sniper's glass. She could almost feel a laser trembling on the back of her skull.  
Somehow, Gia knew she was being watched from a vigilant predator who looked like any ordinary person.  
A turian off to her right readjusted his briefcase.  
A male human dabbed sweat off his forehead.  
There was a man in front of her who gave her an odd look, then proceeded to drink his bottled water.  
A chilly female voice from a speaker behind her said something about the weather being fifty degrees Celsius in a couple of hours and to beware of heatstroke—stay hydrated and keep in the shade.  
A pack of people stood waiting to cross the six lane road to get access to the parking lot, which was a graceful, swooping structure, covered in a polarizing fabric material, protecting people and the cars parked below from skin cancer and fading paint.  
A white holographic walking person on a sign across the road paced in his eclectic home—walking without making progress, walking without getting anywhere.  
Gia was the tip of the spear, thrusting past everyone. A vehicle to her left tried making it across the pathway. She saw it coming but did not take heed. She had a mission—had an objective to complete: to get the hell out of here.  
It moaned to a stop and honked its horn. The fat, sweaty bastard of the man behind the wheel was obviously in a rush, risking getting a ticket and flattening a quarian girl, then getting booked for life, prosecuted for the vehicular manslaughter of a suited, bagged up monster. If she was not in a hurry, Gia would have walked to the vehicle's door, opened it, dragged the sonofabitch out and kicked his face in.  
Even the Devil on her shoulder shouted at her to _keep moving you bitch._  
Gia could feel her suit working overtime to keep her cool on this blistering summer day. Servos popped and hissed. They sensed adrenaline, exposure to heat, and other hormones that related to fear and survival.  
Her exoskeleton wanted to keep her cool, but the Devil was producing glowing hot coals out of her guts, replacing her veins with steams of magma, venting sulfuric volcanic gasses through her open mouth.  
The parking garage's shade was a temporary safe haven, but shade made a predator more comfortable in its environment. She, however, was prey.  
An elevator to the lower levels was to her right but she took the stairs. No one in their right mind would be using the stairs in this heat, so it was empty. She grabbed onto the blue painted railings and flew down the white stairs, taking them two, _three_ at a time. Five stories she had to descend, but all she could think about was walking out the last door, facing a firing line of muzzles, or have a single bullet strike her from behind.  
Fear.  
It was one emotion she had never witnessed consume a person except for actors in movies. Rarely had it gripped her.

Never in her life did she realize _this _is how it would feel when it coddled her.  
She let it swell inside, take over, and _dominate. _  
A subtle _muhhuahhu _came from her lips as she jumped four stairs. The noise had startled her and fueled this... _dread_ that weighed down her stomach and felt as if it could tangle her legs and trip her down the last flight of stairs. She could feel her bladder loosen and her small intestine relax.  
She was running from an unknown entity that could possibly not even be chasing her.  
She was running off instinct alone.  
The door at the top of the stairwell _clicked _open. Something was chasing her. Gia smashed her shoulder against the steel door and fumbled outside, almost losing her footing.

The elevator _dinged _and the doors opened to her right, an arm's length away. Gia half expected an oily, amebic creature to slosh out of the steel box. A crushing fear sedated Gia's muscles.

"Gia, hold on."

The old man with the blue eyes and bowtie from the bar walked out, both hands raised in the air showing he was unarmed.

"It...it's you," stuttered Gia.

"Come, let me walk you to your car," he said.

"Do you know me?" asked Gia.

"Yes."

"I don't know you, though."

"You do. Think hard. Think about your dreams."

Gia's heart stopped for two seconds, then pounded a river of blood through her arteries.

"Wh-what did you say?"

Gia was ready to push her vehicle's key into the old man's face that was wrinkled in contemplation, heartbreak, and sincerity.

"I knew about those people on the news, too," he whispered, his deep voice containing the qualities of a craggy cliff-face.  
"How?"  
Gia's thoughts were going a light-year a second.  
_ Who is this man?_  
_ How does he know about my dreams that I have never spoken about?_  
_ How does he know about the people on the news?_  
A flying car whistled down an aisle. Both of them jumped.  
"How much lucid dreaming have you done?"  
His question caught Gia off guard. Lucid dreaming was a somewhat new concept to her. She has been trying very hard over the past year to be able to control her dreams, but when she tried to take the reins, she was woken up, usually by a yellow sun rising over a mechanized city, and by intense heat that the star brings with it.  
"I have only controlled one dream and it was one where I was being interrogated—a nightmare of sorts."  
"Can you tell me about this dream?"  
"I was in a blank room, three gray walls and a mirror. A man made of servos, cogs and wires talked to me. He had blue eyes and I broke out. Wh-what does this have to do with anything? Who the _fuck_ are you?"  
Gia's tone of voice sharpened and could have skinned the man.  
"My name is Doctor Harris Liebermann and you contain the most expensive, desirable, and deadliest weapon in the galaxy."  
Gia stopped walking and grabbed him by the neck.  
"What are you talking about? What 'weapon' are you talking about?"  
Gia's voice was not her own—it was possessed by primal survival instincts and fear.  
The old man put a finger on her orange, smoked veil, right between her eyes and said, "Your brain."  
"What?"  
"Your...," he coughed and his old hands ferociously grabbed her forearms, "your brain is the deadliest weapon in the known galaxy. From light-years away, you can collapse a planet—destroy a government, and bring everyone to their knees."  
Gia let go of the old man as her world began to spin.  
He coughed and dryly said, "I also have the same ability as you. I have been 'watching' you grow. I have seen your dreams—have seen what you thought only you knew."  
Everything Liebermann was saying was insane, something that would be written down in a psychopathic lunatic's dairy, right next to how he enjoyed skinning his dead grandma's corpse for a full bodysuit to dance under a harvest moon's light.  
"You're crazy."  
Her tone was serious—somber.  
Gia walked away from him but she could hear his hard soled shoes chasing after her.  
"Gia _Heiko_, when you were fourteen, you did something horrible—something unspeakable."  
Gia stopped and turned around. This man, who she had never before seen, was spilling secrets she only keeps for herself. He knew her true last name.  
"Who told you that? Are you working for Detective Landford? C-Sec? Are you a pig—a cop?"  
He continued saying things only Gia knew, "When you were nine years old, you had a fight with your dad. In his office back at home, he kept pictures that you drew on a bulletin board—one was of the Destiny Ascension, the asari dreadnaught and another was of you, your mom, and your dad sitting on a bench in a park. In the picture you drew, you were holding a blue soccer ball and your dad had six fingers on his right hand. After the fight, you went into his room and tore them all up and threw them off the balcony and into the wind."  
Gia felt like her mind was being stripped of its privacy. That memory—the one of her tearing apart the pictures, only she knew about it. She never talked about it with anyone.  
"What is this, some kind of joke?" Gia pointed at the white pillars of the parking garage. "Where are the cameras? Come on out you little pieces of shit. This is all staged, right?"  
Her frustrated, electronic voice echoed in the empty lower level.  
"Who told you all of this? My dad?" asked Gia.  
Doctor Liebermann stood in front of Gia, both hands curling into a fists.  
"Gia, you and I are being hunted. A day ago, I was almost assassinated. I listened to my wife get murdered while I hid in a panic room. This is no joke you spoiled little _brat_. Get a goddamn hold of yourself!"

His hard voice echoed off the barren walls of the garage while his blue eyes arched electricity.  
From behind Doctor Liebermann, Gia saw two people she had wished to never see again in her life.  
One Thumb and Fireneck approached, both had bandages on their faces.  
Now was _not_ the right time.  
Gia's life was being slapped in the face, as was her confidence and sanity. She could still taste the acerbic tinge of blood in her mouth and she winced as her tongue brushed over the broken oral flesh.  
"'_ey _quarian _bitch,_ you ready for round two?" asked Fireneck who had dried blood running down his face.  
"Who are these guys?" asked Liebermann, confused and concerned.  
"They are nobody," spat Gia who approached them. "Get out of here before you two get hurt!"  
She waved an arm at them, pointing the fools towards the elevator. "Get back in the elevator, go to your stupid farm, and feed the people on this planet." They did not follow her orders, so Gia rubbed her stomach and said, "Go on now, I'm hungry."  
"Who are they, Gia?" asked Liebermann, more assertively this time, but then recognized them as the men at Bill's bar.

Maybe the doctor was telling the truth. Only a man who had more important matters on his mind wouldn't recognize two men he saw an hour ago get brutalized by a teenager.  
Gia, without steering her dead set gaze on these two morons said, "They are two men who like to sodomize pigs in their own feces."  
"You have a big mouth on you," said One Thumb.  
"My bite is _way _worse than my bark. I will chomp you in half, cut off your head, make a bow tie with your intestines then mail them to your pig girlfriends who wouldn't be able to distinguish your faces from the slop they eat."  
Gia dropped her backpack. All this rage, confusion, and the remaining hangover could be cured with yet another fist-fight. Her brain was spinning and all she wanted to do was hit something as hard as she could.  
"You two," said Doctor Liebermann, "You are in way over your heads. Leave before you get killed!"  
"This little quarian won't kill us," assured One Thumb.  
"I am not talking about _her_."  
Gia got her visor right up in Fireneck's face, so close that the outside of her mask fogged from his breath, the orange bristles from his beard scraping against her composite shield.  
"You don't brush your teeth, do you?" asked Gia, who stood on her tip-toes. "You eat pig shit?"  
The man pushed Gia, his face disgruntled by her petty insults. She pushed him back, throwing her body weight into both hands, but he grabbed her right arm. From all the hand-to-hand combat she trained for, Gia had several ways to take him out of the fight and she chose the easiest way to break an arm by using an Israeli krav maga move. Gia grabbed his arm and twisted it so she could get a grip on his forearm. The man was unsuspecting. Gia sidestepped, twisted his arm so his elbow was facing the ceiling and with everything she could muster, threw an elbow into his straightened one and jerked his forearm up. A brittle, dry _crack _coughed from his arm as his thumb scratched his shoulder blade by an angle that was only reachable with a shattered elbow.  
Fireneck's breath was knocked out and he fell to the ground, his arm bent the wrong way.  
"Enough you three!"  
Gia and One Thumb launched at each other, but over One Thumb's shoulder, Gia noticed something odd. The blonde woman from the 21 Hour Diner walked out of the staircase. Her icy stare revealed something that she did not see before—her girly attitude had frozen over as her slanted, hawk-like eyes gunned down Doctor Liebermann. She fished a handgun from her black leather purse and aimed it at Gia.  
Finally, the hunter revealed itself in the form of something she least expected.  
A gunshot was the punctuation mark at the end of One Thumb's sentence consisting of a slur of racial insults to Gia as a bullet lodged itself into the back of his skull and exploded out the top of his head. Gia watched, inches away from One Thumb's face, as his eyes loosely rolled in their sockets, the muscles pulverized by the kinetic impact of the shot.  
This was the second person Gia had ever seen die, and she found it no less traumatic than the first. Screaming, Gia pushed him off her.  
He slouched forward as his muscles tightened from post-mortem spasms, curling him into a ball on the ground.  
"Run!" screamed Gia, her voice animalistic and tearing.  
The insectile shriek of a bullet barely missing her head dumped adrenaline into her system as she ran for a pillar that supported the ceiling. Gia grabbed Doctor Liebermann and tossed him behind the great pillar. The Doc's finger tips were white and spatulated as he pressed himself into the column.  
Gia felt that her bladder was suddenly empty.  
"These are not the assassins that were after me earlier," exclaimed the Doc.  
"I fed her breakfast this morning!"  
"Gia?"  
"I should have bleached her cantaloupe, goddamn it!"  
"Gia!"  
"What?" she screamed, spinning her head to meet the doctor's gaze.  
Gia could hear the blonde woman flanking the pillar, using cars as cover. She was good.  
"Listen to me carefully. You and your dad—" He was interrupted by the roar of the blonde woman's pistol.  
"Fuck you, you fucking fuck!"  
"Gia, _shut up_! Just _shut up_. The words I am about to tell you are the most important you will ever hear. You and your dad are Dreamcatchers. There were only ten in the galaxy, now there are five. That is five dead in a day. This woman, I don't know who she is, but she is trying to kill me."  
A bullet bit into the concrete pillar, carving off a chunk. Gia threw the slab of concrete back at the assassin in futile defense. The woman was suppressing them as she got a flank on them.  
"You have seen something that you were not supposed to see in the recurring dream with Humpty Dumpty."  
Gia, grinding her teeth, stared dumbfounded at the old man.  
"It is up to you and your dad to figure out what it is."  
"How am I supposed to know what in the hell I am looking for?"  
Gia could smell perfume and the clattering of the blonde woman's shoes had stopped. Gia looked away from the Doc and saw the blonde assassin behind a car mere meters away from them, pistol trained on them both. A blue tongue of flame flickered from the mouth of the pistol, followed by a room-shattering _bang._  
Gia covered her face and tensed her body, waiting for the horrendous pain that must come from a gunshot.  
Nothing happened.  
She opened her eyes and felt a soft, heavy object give her an unwelcome hug. Doctor Liebermann's dead body fell on top of her. She desperately punched at the dead weight trying to get him off her. Another bullet ripped into Liebermann's back blurring the distinction between her screams and the _barks_ from the blonde assassin's weapon. Pushing the doctor's body off of her, Gia watched the assassin recover from the recoil, take an isosceles shooting stance, and aim at Gia.  
Her short life was about to be cut off.  
The thing about your life flashing before your eyes before dying was bullshit. Gia wanted to apologize to Mom and Dad for the things she had done.  
_ Bang._  
Confused, Gia watched the woman's blond hair catch a sudden gust of wind and her golden sheet of hair was turned into a red and yellow patched quilt. The assassin's gun fell from her hands and slid under the car she had been using as cover. Instinctively, Gia lunged forward and grabbed it, quickly making a scan of her surroundings. The blonde assassin stared at her from under the vehicle, choking on blood from a bullet that came out of the darkness, striking her throat and breaking her neck. Without thinking, Gia fired a bullet at her face, tattooing a red pinhole on her forehead while repainting the car red behind the woman's skull.

Gia discovered a man peeking from behind the stairway door and he walked out of cover, exposing himself to Gia, clasping onto a smoking handgun.  
It was the turian from earlier this morning with the robotic arm.  
The center dot of Gia's pistol sights were trained on his face. He slowly walked out of cover, both beady eyes staring Gia down, but did not aim his weapon at her.  
Tranquilized by horror and bewilderment, Gia held fire, her hands trembling so hard she could not acquire a target.  
The turian walked over to Fireneck, who was supine on the garage floor and screaming with enough power to collapse his lungs. The turian, with bird like reflexes, shot him in the face—executed him while staring at Gia, then walked away like nothing had happened, infallibly turning his back to Gia.

Everything happened so fast.

Continued to happen fast.

Time sped up.

Accelerated.  
Gia found herself sprinting down the aisle in search of her ride.

Time had passed through her.

She does not remember running up to dead Fireneck and grabbing her backpack seconds ago, but she does remember _murdering _the blonde woman.  
_ It was self-defense, _she told herself.  
She was unarmed, though. That counts as murder.  
In the back of the garage was her ride—an old human motorcycle known as a Ducati. Gia jumped on the red, white, and green stitched, black leather seat and tried to insert the key into the ignition.  
Keelah, her hands shook.

She noticed she was still holding the pistol and it was scratching the matte-black paint job on the gasoline tank. Gia put the gun in her backpack and tried to thread the needle—insert the key into the ignition. The bike coughed to life and Gia did not bother with the kickstand. She slammed it into first and floored it out the garage, with tire smoke and all.

The acceleration away from this place felt good.

The acceleration of this situation did not.  
Not all vehicles flew, so there were still roads all over Milgrom, which Gia used all the time.  
What was she thinking about roads for?  
She was a _murderer. _  
There was no getting off easy this time. Jail was inevitable. The police would be on her tail along with the assassins that Liebermann said were after her.  
There was too much to think about. She just got a face-full of _fuck you _in a span of two minutes. Her life had been ruined. Her foundations had just been fractured and all they needed to fall was a push.  
Gia's brain was the deadliest weapon.  
The dream is some sort of riddle.  
What did she see in the dream that makes people want her dead?  
Her father and she are Dreamcatchers.  
_ What is a Dreamcatcher?_  
Gia hit two-hundred kilometers an hour.  
"I cannot go to jail," she decided. Her voice was as alien as the destination of a black hole. The black tarmac was an inky blur under her front tire, as was this new life she had plummeted into.  
"Think, Gia. What do you need to do?"  
Gia talked into her helmet and said, "Call Mom."  
The phone rang _once, twice, three times. _  
"Come on, pick up, _please._"  
"Where have you been, Gia?"  
Her mom's voice was filled with a sternness that could shatter glass, but to Gia, at this moment, hearing Mommy's voice brought tears to her eyes and grabbed her by the throat.  
"Gia, answer me _damn it_."  
Gia fought back the urge to cry and said as strongly as possible, "Mom, I am at school and have been for a while. I have a test today that I have been studying for a couple of hours."  
Gia could hear a condescending sigh over the line—a pressure cooker releasing a buildup of steam, but the fire was still licking the side of the pot.  
"Where were you last night?" asked Mom.  
"I was out drinking," Gia admitted. "I came home late."  
"I heard you come in last night." There was a pause. "You flipped all of the dining room chairs and broke a lamp. You cannot be out so late alone. It's dangerous, Gia."  
"I know."  
"Then why do you do it?"  
"Mom, I... you know why I drink."  
"Gia?"  
Gia twisted the throttle, trying to get to school faster.  
"Yeah?"  
"I am disappointed."  
"Like I don't already know that."

Mom sighed again and asked, "Didn't you have work this morning?"  
Gia, caught in a lie, responded, "Chef Athena didn't need me."  
Mom was silent over the line for a second, contemplating what her daughter had said. "I saw your work schedule. Why didn't she need you? It's about to be the weekend and flights are coming in thick and fast today. It should be crowded."  
"I don't know what to say," said Gia truthfully.  
"I am calling her as soon as I am done talking to you."

Mom's paranoia and intelligence was working against Gia. She was getting frustrated. Gia swallowed more blood. This image of Fireneck being executed flashed in her mind's eye.

"I am telling the fucking truth!"  
"_Don't _use that tone of voice with me, young lady." Mom's voice was calm, controlled, and intimidated even Gia.  
For a second, Gia had forgotten about what just happened in the parking garage. This strife was between Gia and her mom.  
"Why don't you just trust me for once?" pleaded Gia.  
"You have run out of trust."  
"Mom, I love you."  
Gia's mom, Nashira Toshiko, was silent on the other line, then hung up.  
Gia felt as if she had just lost her last ally in the war she was about to fight as her dad was in no way on her side. Even if that felt like a defeat, this phone call was the first step in setting up an alibi that could deter the police. Fleeing the crime scene was stupid, even she knew that, but it felt like the best possible course of action to follow. Gia was smart enough to outmaneuver the cops and with prior knowledge of police work—her dad was once a cop—she felt a strong chance of outsmarting them.  
This was the start of something big. Harris Liebermann could have just been a crazy old man—_was _a crazy old man. The whole dream story was stupid. Only an idiot would believe that. As of right now, she had to evade the police. Inside her helmet, the phone rang. On Gia's helmet's heads-up-display, she saw the incoming call. If it was Mom, Gia was just going to hang up and text her that she is in the library studying. If it was Chef Athena, she was going to have to pick it up, lie, and further solidify her alibi. When the caller identification in her helmet read off the name of who was on the other line, Gia's heart bucked and she felt her stomach drop.  
It was Detective Landford.


	5. Chapter Four - Unleashed

**The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter Four - Unleashed**

** Nos Astra, Illium  
**The morning breeze swirled through the penthouse suite's open sliding doors and danced with the white fabric curtains of the one-million credit room. Skave Arterius, a Citadel Spectre, stood vigilantly in the empty penthouse, staring at the rising sun through squinting eyes. The turian dropped his duffel bag on the cherry stained wood floor he picked out specifically when he bought this place last week while on an operation. The feel of wood under his bare feet was warmer than the machined metal of spaceships. Yes, it felt good.  
This was his first time stepping foot into his investment—his sanctuary, his citadel.

In his bag was only a change of clothes, a pistol, and a compact submachine gun made only for Spectre agents, along with ten million credits.

Today was his first hour of freedom.

The previous couple of days were his last with the highly-trained, handpicked crew he had selected almost nine years ago. It was nine years of friendship, relationship building, hardships, and Skave had never thought he would feel so _alone _as they departed after the last job they had pulled with a payout of around twelve million credits each.

The air from Nos Astra graced the plates on his face.

It felt good.

Skave would kill for one more mission with his crew—his friends, his _brothers _and_ sisters. _

Now, he was alone, as were his companions, but accompanying him were ten million credits and this prime location on a planet where his dirty past would not be able to tarnish his new image. He peered at the bag leaning against his leg.  
It was blood-money. His ship, crew, and himself had hijacked a human Alliance vessel, the _SSV Mayflower_, and stripped it of both life and funds on board. It was the heist of the century—one that would be looked upon, studied in documentaries and surrounded by conspiracy theories written about the mysteries of its disappearance.

Skave and his crew consisted of Spectres, former STG, asari commandos, and krogan warlords. He closed his eyes and could picture every one of their faces, their quirks, their birth dates, and what their favorite colors were. This was his final resting place, his bastion of retirement, finally living the calm life he had deserved.

_ You will take life again. You are never going to completely settle down._

The Intruder—this split personality, an esoteric entity that had introduced itself to Skave's mind ten years ago during his toughest operation to date whispered to him. Over the past decade, he had learned to embrace this voice that incessantly scratched and itched at the back of his skull. Sometimes it was right, other times it could have gotten him killed. He was constantly playing a game of Russian roulette.

Skave stepped out to the porch overlooking the city. He was three-hundred stories up and could feel the building swaying with the wind—dancing with this invisible, _powerful_ force.

No, it resisted the wind, fought back and prevailed with its sheer size and mechanical ingenuity.

Skave felt his artificial heart pump liters of blood through his system. It is truly amazing how far medical engineers have gone and persisted. They had made a synthetic heart, stomach, and a bionic eye for him in order to survive the trauma he had endured ten years ago when hunting down the Heiko family. As a Spectre, Skave was able to gain special access to classified information and had heard rumblings of specialists attempting to use three-dimensional printers to build fully artificial brains that can mirror intelligent organic life and could possibly be considered artificial intelligence.

Was it legal?

Who knows.

Artificial intelligence had been banned from the galactic society after the quarians built the geth, which backfired, tarnishing their reputation. They are a subspecies, mere slaves to their immune system—inferior to the turian race in every possible way.

Organic artificial intelligence could be the loophole in the creation of self aware... _people. _

Skave was too tired to dwell on the intricacies and terminology that goes with artificial intelligence for he was no professional or expert on the whole subject—it was just a topic that had captured his attention.

Either way, he was grateful for the organic, three-dimensional printers that had created his organs, and for the engineers that built his eye.

Someday, he wanted to get even with both Cerberus, the human supremacist group who almost killed him ten years ago, and possibly Toby Heiko, the human who almost did the same. The man was probably dead after all these years and Skave's anger towards him had been reduced to a slow simmer—he was of no concern anymore. If Toby was alive, wherever he may be, Skave thought it may be better to leave him that way. The paranoia of being hunted by a phantom was going to drive him insane and probably lead to suicide or a life riddled with mental disabilities.

A long, drawn out death is more rewarding than a quick one and Toby Heiko deserved to slowly die.

_ You have lost the motivation to kill Toby?_

The Intruder questioned Skave's thoughts.

"Yes, he is not worth going after. I am far superior—a hunter must hunt the predators. Toby Heiko is prey. Taking him out will not sharpen my abilities."

_ It is not time to retire._

"I am going to put in my resignation to the Council later today."

_ I will not allow that, Skave._

Skave unzipped his black bag and brought his pistol to his skull.

"I can blow you away if I wanted to."

His voice was sharp and threadbare.

The Intruder did not echo back. Its resilience and self-preservation was startling. The thought that he had some sort of artificial intelligence implanted in his skull during the medical operation ten years ago had crossed his mind. That operation was caused by Toby Heiko unintentionally leading him into Cerberus hands where a gunshot to the head failed to finish Skave.

Nos Astra, Illium's capitol, captured Skave's attention. The temperatures on this planet reached sixty-degrees centigrade on average which was why the asari had colonized the polar tips of this world, since the middle is basically rendered useless—the temperatures out there would kill a person.

The past week had been rough and for once, Skave just wanted to take a seat and rest for a whole day—do nothing, be a waste of intelligent life. It was not of his personality to just take a seat and watch the city sprint through its daily routine, but for the sake of what was left of his sanity, he should condone the busy problems of life.

Skave slowly sat down on _his _floor next to his bag and let waves of breeze crest and break over him.

He opened his omni-tool to resign from the ranks of the Spectres—of the elite. Over the past ten years, he and his crew had completed missions that towered over what a normal Spectre did in their prime. He was too good to be part of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. They did not deserve his unique ability to take life. All Spectres are efficient machines at killing, but Skave was an artist.

In his head, a hard pinprick jabbed as the back of his eyes—a powered drill left on, the trigger pressed to the highest setting.

The Intruder was retaliating.

It was time to break free of the shackles that constrained him to this malignant menace. Skave grabbed the pistol from his bag and pressed it against his temple. The pain melted away.

Now, it was time to call the turian Councilor to let him know of his retirement.

On Skave's omni-tool, an incoming called rudely interrupted him.

"Skave Arterius," he answered, voice dry and brittle having not spoken in quite some time.

"Skave Arterius, this is Andrea Strong, head of the Alliance's Human and Xeno Relations."

Skave flinched at the human female's voice coming from the holograph on his arm. He fought The Intruder's urge to fire six or seven rounds into his own fist to make her voice stop. Again, Skave held his firearm to his forehead.

"Speaking," he hissed.

"How are you this morning?" asked the woman, her tone warm and friendly—her meaning cold and calculating. Skave looked out the window and noticed the morning sun being birthed behind the stalagmites of metal and glass.

How did she know it was the morning where he was?

How did she know he was even on a planet and not on a ship?

"I am gathering a sense of questions from your silence," said Andrea, her accent sounding unlike other humans he has met. Skave, bewildered, was silent for only two seconds.

"I—"

Skave was cut off by Andrea, saying, "I know where you are right now, so there should be no puzzlement. Nos Astra, Illium—in your new penthouse."

He immediately liked this woman. She was different from the other humans he had met. She was not soft or pliable or weak—she was strong.

Andrea _Strong._

She reminded him of himself. He liked that.

Skave leaned back onto his bag, using it as a pillow for his neck and asked, "How do you know where I am?"

He was amused and intrigued by this whole bizarre situation.

"Mr. Arterius, I may be a human, but I am just as dangerous as you."

Skave laughed and closed his eyes, exhaling stress.

"I assure you that you are not."

She sighed on the other line and Skave felt suddenly stupid for saying such a macho response.

"I am not on the line to talk to you about physical prowess—I am here to talk hard business. I am all _hard_ business."

"You've probably read my files, seeing that you _obviously_ have a hand in every cookie jar. You know I am racist against your kind, _human_."

"I recognize that you realize I am not average," said Strong.

"How astute of you."

She was right, though.

"I am not fond of turians, either," she fired back.

"Your political status is ironic."

"Indeed."

"What do you want from me?" asked Skave, cutting to the chase. He was sick of bickering with this woman over the phone. Andrea Strong was silent over the line, baiting Skave—letting him sit until ripe. He waited, playing her game since she had the high ground here.

"Give me a war," she said.

Skave's smile was blasted away.

"A war you say? Now you are speaking my language."

Skave stood and walked to the balcony overlooking Nos Astra. The morning was early and most people were jumping out of bed, punching alarm clocks, taking showers, or shoveling breakfast into their skulls. Skave on the other hand was making history—had his hand in a cookie jar where the baked goods were so sweet that he could not resist. He submitted to Andrea Strong and her game. He was going to let her verbally assault him in order to gather answers.

"You are one of two Spectres on Illium at the moment and I require your assistance in a matter that must not be shared with anyone else."

Andrea was quiet, wanting to hear him ask the questions—wanting to hear him, a Council Spectre, plead for answers. He was willing to obey.

"Continue, I am interested."

"There is an agent that I need who is imprisoned in a jail on Illium."

"You are the mighty politician, why can't you talk him or her free?"

"_He_ is too dangerous and… valuable to let free, and yes, I have tried to talk him out as you suggested."

"I am to break him free, yes?" inquired Skave, gripping the railing with an intense ferocity. He could see the red glow of his bionic eye staring back at him through the many spherules of morning dew beaded on the polished wood railing, much like staring into the face of a spider.

"Yes, that is your sole purpose."

"Any suggestions on how I should do this?"

"You are the Spectre, that is your job. All I have is the location of where he is being held and the funds to assist you."

"A 'he' you said?"

She slipped the first bit of information to him—much like a crack in a dam, Skave was going to hammer at this fissure until answers spilled to him freely.

Skave could hear her choke on her words, "I—yes, he is in this prison."

Skave mindlessly paced back into his new house and entered the kitchen. He had only seen blueprints and renders of what this place was going to look like via the extranet, but this was the first time he was personally able to walk around it. Without thinking too much on what he was doing, Skave opened the refrigerator door and stared into the cold, empty maw.

"Tell me more about the man I am 'rescuing' in the near future."

Andrea did not retaliate on the 'near future' remark. This assignment was to be done soon.

"His name is Walter Spinnaker."

"Why is he locked up?" pressed Skave.

"His mind possesses capabilities that would destroy the galaxy as we know it."

"So why would I want to unleash him if he is this dangerous?"

"He is the lighter under the wick and you, Mr. Arterius, are kerosene to this lighter. He is the chaos this galaxy needs in order to spin the Milky Way into turmoil."

"I like what you are saying."

"I knew you would," she said, her voice milled from a chilled billet of steel.

"How is Walter Spinnaker going to spark this war?"

"I cannot reveal those details to you, but I can assure you that he must kill four people in order to do so."

"Who are they?" asked Skave.

"I cannot tell you."

"Why?" he persisted.

"Like I said, I cannot tell you."

"I can say 'no' to this operation. I would like more intelligence before I risk my life."

_ Press on it Skave, press. _

The turian Spectre listened to the whispers in his head, and complied.

"I want to know who he will be going after."

"If I tell you, this whole operation could deflate and you would be the needle that initiates the prick."

Skave really liked this woman. He wanted to throw her off his balcony and watch her explode on the tarmac below. It must be someone he knew or who was an acquaintance. Is it an old squad-mate of his that he had just split up with?

Maybe.

It very well could be.

That would be unacceptable.

"Tell me or I am going to hang up," pressed Skave.

"It is not a friend of yours," she said like she was reading his mind.

"How do I know you are not lying?"

The line was quiet and Skave listened to subtle static pop in the background.

"You are just going to have to trust me."

"Says the woman who wants to start a galactic war."

He was about to retire and he honestly wouldn't care who Walter was going after. Skave could not think of anyone that would make him want to go on the move again, except for one person.

"This is over."

"No, wait!" blurted Skave, springing after an invisible Andrea who was about to slip through his fingers and fall off the balcony. He suddenly felt weak and wanted to toss himself off the balcony.

The human snickered on the other line.

"I will do anything you ask if you carry out starting a war," said Skave, regaining his composure.

"Good. There is a prison on the equator of Illium, out in the desert, that holds some of the most dangerous convicts the Milky Way has spun into existence. You might know of this place by the name Hubris, what with your Spectre reports and ability to gain access to pretty much everything and anything."

Skave had heard of this place. A few years back, a fellow Spectre was put in there for blackmailing a powerful person. Prisons excited him and motivated him to do his work with laser precision, and this place was one of the most brutal in the galaxy—brutal in the sense that if one does manage to break out, the fugitive would die quickly due to the heat, sun, lack of water, and the vast emptiness that would surround him or her. Nature was more effective than multi-million credit security systems. It was free, veteran at taking lives, and effortless in doing so.

"What do I do with Walter Spinnaker when I get him out?" asked Skave, his appetite for one more operation swelling deep inside his bowels. The excitement was primal and clawing him from the inside with feverish intensity.

"I want you to get him on the fastest transport and send him to the Citadel."

"Is that where you are right now?" asked Skave.

"You probably know the answer to that question, Mr. Arterius.

"What is he going to do once I send him to you?" asked Skave.

"I am going to cut him loose—unleash him on his prey."

Andrea Strong had not shot down what he said—she gave away her position by not denying that she was at the Citadel.

"How will Spinnaker start this war?" he asked.

"Once he kills his targets, then the gates will open and conflict will spill out."

Curious, Skave asked, "What is this war—this _conflict _over? Who are the two sides?"

"We will be enemies once it starts."

"I enjoy the sound of that," whispered Skave.

Andrea Strong, the immovable force—this abstract ally… _enemy _resonated the most chilled silence from the end of the line. She was not able to decipher what Skave had meant by _I enjoy the sound of that._

"Bring Walter Spinnaker to me, Mr. Arterius and this war will begin within dozens of hours."

Andrea Strong killed the line and Skave stood victorious, gaining the upper hand at the last moment. He _never _loses at anything, be it a firefight or a phone call.

This Walter Spinnaker had captured Skave's attention, along with his ability to kill, start a war, and the amount of resources put into his detainment. This prison, from the reports he had read, was expensive to maintain and housed inmates ranging from turian, human, asari, to even krogan. They were some of the worst people in the galaxy.

Hubris essentially did not exist.

Why did Walter Spinnaker get put away?

What did he do to deserve a life in a culture few want to be a part of?

Whatever it was, it had to have been _very _bad.

There was a knock at the door and it opened softly.

"Skave, it's me, Ferogi."

The turian voice startled and confused him. It was one of his crew-mates, a fellow Council Spectre that only days ago, was under his command.

"Friend, what are you doing here?" asked Skave, his eyes slimming with caution.

This was the last person he expected to see standing at his front door. Ferogi had sat by his hospital bed when Skave woke up from the medical operation ten years ago after the Heiko hunt. Ferogi wanted to hunt down Cerberus, the people behind Skave's dance with death. Skave half expected to see Walter Spinnaker walking through in an orange jumpsuit and ankle shackles saying he did not need help escaping. Skave's heart pounded in his chest.

"I thought you were heading for Bekenstein?" Skave asked, nudging his hand closer to his pistol. Something was not right with him showing up here. Skave never gave his location to anyone of his crew.

"I was at Bekenstein an hour ago tracking down a Cerberus agent."

Nothing added up.

Was his best friend here to take him out?

"You just earned over ten-million credits and you continue to track down Cerberus?" Skave's voice sharpened.

"I am loyal to you and your cause. Just because I have millions from the last heist, doesn't mean I am going to settle down."

Ferogi, his best co-worker and friend for ten years, still stood at door, one hand on the knob.

"Come inside," offered Skave.

"Thank you."

He shut the door and walked into the kitchen, admiring the detail work.

"Why are you here?"

Ferogi ran a three-fingered synthetic hand on the black granite counter-top and said, "I got a call right after I watched someone else take out the Cerberus agent I was after."

Ferogi had the tendency to release too much information in single sentences.

Skave's mandibles flared, excited. He did not know what part of Ferogi's sentence to tackle first: "You got a call?"

"Andrea Strong."

"I—"

"She spoke to you, yes?" asked Ferogi.

"I just got off the line with her."

"What does the name 'Walter Spinnaker' mean to you?"

_ She had her hands in too many cookie jars._

Skave agreed with The Intruder.

"He is a dangerous human who is imprisoned in Hubris and is in need of escape," said Skave, carefully observing the way Ferogi looked at Skave's hand-made quarian watch he stole from Toby Heiko ten years before.

"She wants me to tag along with you, Skave. She gave me two-million credits to get him out."

"Two million?" he asked, remembering Strong saying something about "funds."

Ferogi shrugged and critiqued the six-burner gas stove.

"Is six burners really needed?" Ferogi asked.

Skave ignored his remark and asked, "What do we need two-million credits for?"

"I thought you would know, Commander."

They stared at each other, knowing what had to be done with the operation. Ask nicely to release Walter Spinnaker, or bribe the owner of Hubris to release him. Anything can be bought with money, even killers, and wars.

"I found the Heikos," blurted Ferogi.

_ Yes, yes, yes! It is time to finish what has started. _

The Intruder did not cushion the mental blow these four words dealt.

It was his life mission to take out the Heikos—find their sanctuary and slam in the front doors with a battering ram. Surprised, Skave found himself to be rather calm, and not _enraged—_rather, he felt relaxed and just did not care. He was too great for them, but he was curious to hear what Ferogi had to say.

"How did you find them?"

"I stumbled upon Gia Heiko in a diner on Bekenstein. Milgrom, their capitol."

"Gia is their daughter?" asked Skave.

"Yes."

Skave leaned against the black counter-top, the heat of his hands making ashen clouds around his finger tips in the granulated night sky of the inky granite.

"How do you know it was her and not some random quarian?"

"Her co-workers called her by the name of 'Gia Toshiko' and she had the same exact watch that you are wearing right now."

Ten years ago, Skave took Toby's watch after he had been captured by C-Sec on the Citadel. It was a rare handmade quarian watch that very few people had. It had to be Gia Heiko, or their new name, Toshiko.

"How do you know her family is even on Bekenstein?" asked Skave, wanting to be sure Ferogi was right.

"Gia said some things that made me believe they are living together. She is only eighteen years old and is still in grade school. All signs point that they are still there, right in Milgrom under the forged last name of 'Toshiko'."

Hunting them down would have been enjoyable, but starting a war sounded to be an even greater cause. The Toshikos can wait and when Walter Spinnaker ignites this war, Skave would go after the family, killing them all.

_ Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea._

His watch felt heavy and dense wrapped around his wrist.

"Who killed the Cerberus agent?" pressed Skave, ravenous for more answers. He could feel himself salivating for mere words.

"Gia."

"_What_?"

"Yes, Gia Toshiko killed her—the Cerberus agent."

"Why was the agent—"

"She was not an agent, but an assassin."

The metal plates that composed Skave's eyebrows overlapped, confused, "Who was the assassin going after? Was she trying to kill Gia Toshiko?"

"Quite possibly, though I think she was going after an old man named 'Harris Liebermann'."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know. We are in the dark on this one, Commander."

"And I want a flashlight."

Ferogi nodded, cracking his knuckles, "Let's grab the war starter then."

The black armored personnel carrier hurdled through the sky leaving a vapor trail of white in its wake. Even through the polarized bullet resistant windows, the scintillating rays of the sun cleaved its way through the multi layered acrylic and carved deep into Skave's organic eye.

The armored police vehicle was their way into the prison. Strings were pulled by Andrea Strong to get them in contact with the Nos Astra police system as well.

They were two Spectres—two trained killers after a man, Walter Spinnaker, to save him, or kidnap him, whose actions could start a war between alien nations resulting in billions of deaths.

He was the catalyst to chaos.

Skave's curiosity, and The Intruder, yearned to meet this revered man being locked up in one of the most expensive and ferocious prisons.

Death here crawled at a slow pace, like amber preserving a prehistoric insect.

Old age took most of the lives of these criminals.

Others were choked by clouds of gas or silently stolen by the tips of needles—an abrupt death, opposite of what they would have had to endure if their crimes were more monstrous.

Instead of prison walls, there was a salt flat expanding hundreds of thousands of square kilometers where a sea once slept. Outside of the window, the sky's blue belly rested on the white salty crust.

The sky was a spotless blue dome.

Inside the Nos Astra Special Response armored vehicle was bare and pure utilitarian, much like most military or police vehicles. Black five-point seat belts harnessed Ferogi and Skave to the aluminum seats.

The weapon racks were bare, as were the armor holders. This vehicle was clearly not used often and was taken out of its garage by the spur of the moment orders from Andrea Strong. If she had powerful ties with the asari government and police system on Nos Astra, then she was clearly more influential than Skave had anticipated.

The whir of the engines vibrated the interior of the cabin.

At the helm of the vessel was Captain T'Mar of the Nos Astra police department. Skave was unsure about what branch she served with, but he had the sneaking suspicion that she was part of the Special Response branch, which is the highest police honor inhabited by only the best on the police force. They are counter-terrorists, Special Weapons and Tactics, and warriors all in one potent package, much like Toby Heiko who Skave had fought with ten years ago.

She was indeed a formidable enemy.

Captain T'Mar turned and looked at the two Spectre agents she was backpacking across her planet. Packs of muscle shifted like tectonic plates under her purple skin, her lack of tattooed eyebrows gave her the impression of some sort of beast. She was huge, much like the female bodybuilders he had seen on the vids. Under her right eye were thirteen white tattooed kill marks from unlucky foes she had encountered in the past, and was victorious over.

She had a cruel body.

Skave wanted to lodge a bullet behind her eye, or crush her skull against the dashboard of the vehicle.

He wanted to show her what true power meant and felt like on the receiving end. If she survived Skave's fantastic encounter, then she would be a daunting enemy to face and respect would be handed to her through scars and newly forged predatory traits.

"So, Andrea Strong," said T'Mar from the front seat.

Her voice was light and childish—it was amusing to hear its supple melody escape from that hardened, frightening body.

"She sounds a bit like a bitch," she continued.

"Yes indeed."

Skave shifted in his seat after he broke the silence.

"And you two are Citadel Spectres?"

"Yes."

Skave tried to keep it as short and blunt as possible.

"I have never seen two together before."

"It's uncommon," hissed Skave, his narrow face and eyes darting to the back of her skull.

She was clothed in a heavy fabric vest, not armor. She was the egotistical kind of police officer that took her job too seriously. He wanted to punish her with a blade.

Skave's compact sub-machine gun persistently pressed into his ribs.

They were not supposed to be armed.

"What can you tell us about Hubris?" asked Ferogi, leaning towards the front.

"It's a prison no criminal wishes to spend time in." T'Mar pointed out the window. "Hubris has no sophisticated security gates, only nature on its side. It reaches in the mid seventy degrees centigrade out here on a day like this. If you manage to escape, you'll die."

"How many inmates are there?" asked Ferogi.

"One-hundred."

"That's all?"

T'Mar peered at Skave and said, "Yes. These people are the worst, though."

"Why have this prison on Illium? Your planet is the most revered colony in the galaxy—why not build a structure on a pressure cooker planet or stick them on a space station?" asked Ferogi.

"Many of the inmates have tried fucking with the rich and famous on this planet. Hubris is privately funded by the rich who managed to catch the criminals that tried to ruin their lives. Each year, they must pay a certain amount to the prison and on a daily basis, the inmate's owners can choose to torture their inmate that they locked up with a fee."

"I thought it is against galactic code to torture?"

"Ferogi, asari are a lot more vindictive and brutal than you would think. We don't always follow the laws and rules—we deviate from it more often that you would think. The power is infectious. With a single phone call and a swipe of your credit chit, you can have someone's fingernails pulled or knees broken within minutes of hanging up the phone."

"How do you know about all this? I mean, isn't this kept secret from the public?" questioned Ferogi, genuinely interested in this taboo of a justice system.

"I worked here for two years as a session manager and caretaker. Only asari commandos are allowed to work detail here for we follow a code and take an oath. The military brainwashes us, much like all militaries. They strip us of personal identities and we operate on a hive mind where we never disobey orders of a superior. We had to keep our mouths shut after we got out, or we ourselves would be locked in a cell."

Impressed, Skave looked out the window and noticed a glimmer in the distance.

That glint of light had to be Hubris.

"We're here, boys."

They lost altitude and the engines moaned under the brutal deceleration.

Out the window, Skave could clearly make out solar panels scattered on the barren white landscape along with five black tarmac landing pads and a single gibbous concrete bunker.

"Do the employees fly home from work every night?" asked Ferogi.

"We… _they _live in the barracks for half a year at a time. In a sense, you are also in prison with the inmates, but with a little more freedom."

The vehicle _thumped _onto the metal ringed landing pad and the engines died down.

"Before you leave me here, I want to let you know that I will be in radio contact. Also, what are you here for?" asked Captain T'Mar. "Andrea Strong was very vague."

"It is best if you do not know," said Skave as he hit the OPENbutton to the hatch. Nature's exhaust billowed into the cabin and for a split second, Skave thought it was the engine's residual heat pounding him into submission. Instead, it was the toxic heat coiling down his throat and burning his lungs. Never had he encountered such natural high temperatures outside of an environment suit.

The oily, freshly paved tarmac stunk of fumes and glimmered with mirages, ghostly apparitions of inmates past, shimmering towards the armored gorge of the vehicle. They squirmed and writhed at Skave's feet, wishing to be rescued from this purgatory. They festooned around the tarmac, invading their way of escape—the armored vehicle.

Skave was king of the dead.

He opened his arms as he walked off the corrugated ramp and closed his eyes. Even through his thin, slender eyelids, the sun battered its way through the skin and savagely ravaged his tender ocular flesh.

He could feel the wispy arms of the dead groping his arm for support—they cried and begged for forgiveness towards their savior. Eyes closed, Skave pictured their blank faces filled with the gaping open mouths that stretched taught from chin to hairline.

He left them behind; their dry, pearling voices screaming for help. The salt flat had a way of taunting the mind. There was something mystical about it.

Skave opened his eyes, feeling like he just had a spiritual awakening. He and Ferogi reached the concrete bunker and the door opened for them. Inside was an elevator that must descend bellow the salty crust.

It was the only way to survive in this hostile environment.

Dig underground.

Dig deep.

Use millions of metric tons of earth to suppress the evil.

Black and yellow lines painted the inside of the elevator with a single camera staring at them from the corner of the elevator. Skave stared into the black, lifeless lens as they began their descent.

Both Ferogi and Skave knew they were being carefully monitored. It was not everyday two Council Spectres walked into a prison. Everyone should be on high alert.

He began to devise a way to get Walter Spinnaker out of the prison. They had two million credits to work with, and this being a place made from and for money, the act of bribery should be simple enough. Andrea Strong was bright and knew all the shadowy corners of the business world. The rich controlled the inmates and could manipulate them with their power.

The elevator seized and the door opened to the first level of the prison.

Skave thought they were going to meet a string of muzzles as the door opened, but to his surprise, they did not. Cool air skated the curves of his raptor-like body as they were met by a grand foyer made from the most expensive pale granite and the blondest of woods. Leather wingback chairs graced the corners of the octagonal reception hall. In the center of the foyer were clear acrylic threads hanging from the ceiling catching light from implanted color shifting bulbs and water streamed down the threads, making it look like an indoor waterfall. Around them were people talking and laughing and smoking and sharing words, all of whom wore expensive, elaborate clothing worth a quarter of Skave's retirement fund sitting on his penthouse floor back at home.

This place was not a prison, but a resort. On the flat sides of the octagonal walls were balconies to hotel rooms that rose up ten stories with bio-luminous vines and ivy flowing over the balconies.

This prison was not what Skave was expecting.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen, may I help you with anything?" asked an asari who came out of nowhere. She wore a blue, bare-backed dress and clasped both hands endearingly, head cocked to one side showing care.

"We are the Council Spectres and need to speak to the warden," said Ferogi, while Skave scanned her face.

He wanted to cut her neck and fondle the open wound.

Trying to stay professional, she kept her composure even if both brown eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh y-yes. If you will, follow me."

The asari tripped on her dress and skittered away.

Skave and Ferogi pursued.

Three more asari sat neatly behind a wooden reception desk and eyed both Spectres suspiciously. The asari they followed did not walk elegantly, but strutted like a commando—she was a killer in a silk dress.

"If you will…" Their guide pointed them towards a shoebox elevator. Skave traced the elevator's path to a room that jutted out over the reception area paned in indigo glass, cantilevered over the reception desk. The trio stepped into the glass box and it chirped up the ten floors.

"Warden T'Maad, the Council Spectres are here to see you," said their guide, certain not to touch the two turians.

Behind a mahogany desk was an asari who was waiting for her decorated guests. She was heavier than the normal asari who were fit and attractive. She, however, sat hunched over, her double chin folding into itself as she stared at her desk toy, the drinking bird.

Its red beak stabbed at an imaginary puddle over and over again.

"I was watching you enter. Thank you, guard," the warden—T'Maad—said sinisterly. A gentle grin massaged its way into the rolls of her fat and for a split second, her orange outlined lips made her fat face easy to look at.

Skave wished he could set her on fire.

T'Maad waited for the guard in fancy garb to disappear into the elevator before she spoke.

"What do two Council Spectres, Ferogi and Skave, want from me—a prison warden?"

"Warden T'Maad, we need an inmate of yours."

With his superior people skills Ferogi did most of the talking. While Ferogi talked, Skave occupied himself by staring a hole into the Warden's forehead. They made an effective team.

"That is an interesting proposition," she said.

"Indeed."

The warden leaned forward, admiring the drinking bird and asked, "Who do you need?"

"Walter Spinnaker."

T'Maad's eyes flickered nervously from the drinking bird to Ferogi, then to Skave. As quickly as it had appeared, her apprehension dissolved into her oceanic blue eyes.

"Why do you need him?"

Ferogi and Skave did not have an answer for this, so Ferogi lied, "That is classified."

"You can't just walk into a prison and ask for one of my prized inmates."

Piano music from below began to play, cooing the drinking bird into a slow yet persistent stabbing motion, unable to stop.

"Prized inmate?" asked Ferogi.

Skave folded a leg over his knee and relaxed. He stared daggers into the warden's face.

"My client pays very well for him."

"What… how do you mean?"

T'Maad pushed her rolling chair closer to Ferogi and folded her fingers together, covering her mouth.

"Our inmates are property and the clients that own them have to pay rent for them to live here and additional fees to keep them… on their toes."

"You mean torture."

"Precisely, but we call that course of action 'sessions'."

Skave thought she would have beat around the bush in search of a more vague word instead of _torture. _She was blunt and to the point.

This game might have just gotten harder.

T'Maad was talking money though, so a bribe—the purchase of Walter Spinnaker should in theory be a simple transaction.

"My client that owns Walter pays _very _well to 'keep him on his toes.' The amount of money I earn from him is about ten-percent of our gross income."

"Your client that owns him, who is he?"

"I cannot tell you; disclosed information," stated T'Maad. She was passionate about her business.

"Well then, due to Council Spectre business, I am going to have to seize him from you," said Ferogi standing and eying the door like business was done here.

"I am afraid that is not going to happen."

"As a Spectre and part of Council space, you must obey my orders," said Ferogi, forcefully.

"This place does not exist in the eyes of the Council, my friends. No one really knows this exists."

Skave's eyes slimmed into sickles.

"Well then, I guess we have some business to attend to." Fergoi took a seat.

T'Maad leaned further into her desk and whispered, "Indeed."

"Is there any way we can make an under the table deal. I give you X amount of money for Walter Spinnaker?"

The warden leaned back and sighed. Her fingers unraveled and she set her hands flat on the mahogany desk like she had nothing to hide.

"My client is a very powerful person and pissing them off would be unhealthy on my part."

"Can't we—"

"_But_," she interrupted, "I can tell my client that Walter Spinnaker passed away during a session… for the right price, that is. That price is going to be hard to achieve."

Another smile crossed her lips, this time making Skave want to wretch. She was a disgusting fat woman with backstabbing abilities. She could easily cover up Walter's disappearance with a made up story and a water tight alibi to go along with it. This was her company, she was the CEO. All big businessmen—in this case businesswoman—know how to deceive their customers with lies in order to gain power and more importantly, money. She was about to cannibalize part of her company in order to gain money for personal gain. It is the people in power, like T'Maad, that the universe had to worry about, not Skave, Ferogi, and Walter Spinnaker. It is the government and the CEOs that work with the government that everyone needs to fear.

"You can do that for us?" asked Ferogi.

"I can, yes."

"We will trade you five-hundred thousand credits for Walter Spinnaker," offered Ferogi. "That's a fair price for a head."

He was smart and holding back his chips.

T'Maad threw her head back and laughed, tears collecting in the corners of her sunken eyes.

"You—you obviously don't understand how valuable Walter is to me."

She chuckled at them in a mocking manner like she knew something they did not. She was in control.

"One-million credits," said Skave, standing from his chair.

"One-million is indeed a fair sum for the majority of my inmates. For Walter, no—not even close."

Skave thought to himself _who_ _is this Walter Spinnaker?_

"Let me just ask," started T'Maad, "do you know who this man _actually_ is? Who Walter Spinnaker is?"

"If I give you an answer, drop the price for his head," said Skave.

"Done."

"No we do not. All we know is that he is a valuable asset to our operation and that he is dangerous," finished Ferogi.

The warden laughed again.

_Strike her!_

Skave fought off the urge to hit the woman in the face. She was insulting them.

"This man has endured the most pain any person—be it krogan, asari, salarian or human—that has crossed my path before. His mind is stronger than both of yours, he is smarter than both of you and could kill you both with ease. This is no ordinary man, but something else—something more sinister and inhuman. He is the strongest person I have known in my nine-hundred and twenty-six years of living."

The piano picked up the pace—the keys vibrating passion, pride, and power through the wires.

T'Maad continued, "That man has experienced two years of almost continuous torture by his owner. Only a strong individual or a madman can withstand that much pain."

"One and a half million credits," said Skave, leaning on the desk.

"Not a chance. He brings that much in a quarter of a year. You need to go higher than that."

"_Two _million credits."

"Oh, you want him bad, don't you?"

Her smile was pushing Skave towards a bestial rage.

_Kill her now! _

"Well, that is all the credits we have," said Ferogi.

"Then we don't have a deal, you can find the nearest exit—"

"Twelve million credits," spat Skave, desperate to win Walter over. He had just thrown his retirement funds at her along with the two million gifted to them by Andrea Strong, the corrupt politician.

"Now we are talking," said T'Maad.

T'Maad leaned back in her chair and crossed both arms behind her head and chewed on her tongue.

"Make us an offer," said Ferogi, who stepped closer.

"Twenty million."

"You are _insane_," said Ferogi.

"No, I am merely doing business."

"No one is worth that many credits."

"Walter Spinnaker is."

"Skave, let's go, now."

Ferogi's synthetic arm clamped around Skave, pulling him towards the elevator.

"It is shame we couldn't do business," said T'Maad with a smirk.

The elevator door hissed shut and they descended.

Ferogi phoned Andrea Strong to tell her the news.

"Don't do that. We have not gotten Spinnaker yet," sneered Skave.

"It's impossible to get him, Commander."

"No, it's not. We have a rat that can get us through this prison and to Walter."

"What are you talking about?"

Skave pointed towards a glass window that looked into a parking garage below the surface The men could see T'Mar standing outside her ride, waiting for both of them to return with Walter.

"Captain T'Mar has worked here before. She has to know where everything is. She is our key to getting deep into the prison," said Skave, taking strides towards the parking garage door.

"She is a Special Response agent, she is not going to betray her old boss and break the law."

"This place doesn't exist, remember?"

Skave opened the door and walked towards T'Mar. He whistled to get her attention and she came trotting over.

"How did it go?" she asked, sensing disappointment on their faces.

"How does two million credits sound to you?" asked Skave.

"That is a lot of cash, but why do you ask?"

"You are going to make that right now."

From under Skave's blue jacket, he unfolded a machine-pistol, it chirped as its master's hands wrapped around its pistol grip, the stock fitting perfectly into his shoulder. Skave put a burst into a security officer's chest who stood by the door. A pink cloud exploded from her back as she dropped foreword.

"What are you doing?" screamed T'Mar, going for her pistol.

"You are part of the law and this place is not right. This place is corrupt and broken. Get a grip and let's take it down!" Skave pressed the lips of his machine pistol to her forehead, hard enough to draw blood. "You show us to our target and you get two-million credits, take down a crime syndicate, and become a hero. You say no, I put a burst into your forehead."

"_Okay okay_!"

"Do we have a deal?" asked Ferogi, going along with the plan.

"Do you have any equipment in the vehicle?" asked Skave.

"Yes and yes, we have some flash bangs, explosive breaching charges and some other stuff."

"Grab it."

"Roger."

Skave could tell this place disgusted her and she was more than happy to take it all down—burn it to the ground. A red light oscillated above them and an alarm followed. Armored plates slowly began to shelter the glass windows.

"Hurry!"

Skave put a burst through the door sending showers of tacky glass nuggets clattering to the floor.

The trio raced to the door and slipped through. The woman who helped them as they entered earlier struggled to draw a concealed pistol from under her dress on the inside of her thigh. She looked up and realized she was done as Skave put a three round burst into her skull, blasting her head into blue chunks down to her chest. The sheer absolute kinetic energy behind the pellets was shocking to the crowd of wealthy clients who sat up from their chairs and stared at thumb sized pieces of skull sinking to the bottom of their champagne glasses, turning the amber carbonated liquid into a purple slurry.

A bullet resistant dome had descended over the three receptionists as they sat in their chairs calmly, setting off alarms, and blocking access to the rest of the prison.

Skave began gunning down civilians. His hatred for them was as hot and furious as the flame flickering out of his muzzle. This place was fascinatingly disturbing and it deserved to not exist.

Above, Skave could see T'Maad staring down at them, her eyes ripping with torrents of burning hatred before the armored shell layered itself over the brittle glass.

Ferogi and T'Mar had the element of surprised, and they bended their surroundings to it. The security guards were quickly dispatched by the two professionals, following the lead of Skave. The lobby ceased to be a threat and quieted down. Bodies lay supine, their chests and heads basted cavities.

These scum were not a problem anymore.

Indeed they were scum.

Yet Skave held a twisted respect for them.

They were insidious and vile creatures.

Twisted wolves beneath sheep's hide, and for that, Skave held respect.

"Follow me and I can get us to the cells," said the Special Response agent.

Ferogi looked at the bodies and asked, "Did you know any of them?"

"No, I did not."

Skave delved headfirst into their conversation: "Where is Walter Spinnaker?"

"I do not know the exact location, but I can find him. There is an elevator behind the waterfall that descends into the prison lobbies and… session chambers."

Ferogi and Skave followed her past the waterfall.

The lights changed color.

The water became red.

Beyond the elevator was just as T'Mar said, a heavy plated door with an access pad affixed to its side.

"Let's see here…" she breathed. A dark hand bulging with veins pressed in a code and the doors shot open. They entered the elevator and Skave noticed short chains tethered to the metal floor of the elevator so they could bind the inmates to the floor, keeping violence from being an option when descending to the chambers below. They spared no expense and kept the place safe from the inmates harming the employees.

Little did T'Maad expect an infiltration team coming in. This place was engineered to keep prisoners in and now they were all locked in with two Spectres and a Nos Astra Special Response veteran.

Again, they spared no expense.

On the wall was a holographic monitor and keypad.

T'Mar typed in: WALTER SPINNAKER

His name and housing level appeared on the monitor: WALTER SPINNAKER B1

"B1 sounds… never mind," whispered T'Mar.

"Is there a problem?" asked Skave, itching to jab her in the ribs with the tip of his weapon to spur her on. They were moving slow, and slow was what could get them killed.

"I can get us there, but B1 is the very bottom of the compound, twenty five stories down—right at the bottom. This is where we keep the worst inmate—the deadliest."

"Will there be resistance down there?" asked Ferogi.

"Possibly. There might be one person below if B1 is going through a session, maybe two. If he is alone, there will be no one," said T'Mar, her lofty voice almost comical coming out of that grotesque body. The elevator shifted and Skave felt a sense of vertigo as they dug deeper into the compound.

He thought about the things the warden—T'Maad—told them about Walter. Even if she was exaggerating, Skave was still going to be cautious. They do not lock up normal, harmless people in institutions like this for misdemeanors. He must have done something horrible to land a ticket in a place like this. If Walter was as dangerous as T'Maad had said, he would have to improvise and probably use the chains on the floor to lock him down tight.

A human could not be more dangerous than him—it was impossible. Skave was one of, if not _the_ top predator in the galaxy.

The elevator softly came to an abrupt halt and the doors opened. T'Mar pushed the emergency stop button for the elevator, making damn sure it was not going anywhere and to coagulate the flow of prison guards down to the basement. Ahead was a shallow hallway with a table, a food dolly, a computer, and two doors at the end. Three marble support pillars in a staggered formation lined the warm, butterscotch walls. Skave took the first step out of the elevator. His footsteps were muffled by the cream carpet on the floor as he trained his sub-machine gun on the food dolly. The metal water pitcher had beads of condensation rolling down the teardrop shaped sides.

The water was cold.

The atmosphere was still that of a resort, as if this was Walter Spinnaker's upgraded suite.

"What kind of place is this?" asked Skave, becoming suddenly suspicious of T'Mar.

"No time to explain, someone is in here," she said.

The cold water.

The food dolly.

Indeed, someone was hiding here—Walter's caretaker or session manager was still here.

"If you come out now and surrender to us, we will spare your life," offered Ferogi, his charismatic voice softened by the carpet.

In the door to the left, an asari came out, hands raised.

"Three of you and one of me is not a fair fight," said their hostage with a nervous grin.

She was dressed in blue guard tactical clothing, eying them warily as she dropped her pistol to the floor. Skave checked his corners, kicked the pistol away, and leaned into his compact weapon.

"I am here to feed inmate B1, that's all," she again said, timidly. "I Promise."

"Where is he?" asked Skave, his voice sending fear through the asari caretaker.

"Right there." She pointed to the rightmost door. "B1 is in there."

"What is the code to get in?" asked Skave, approaching her and pushing the asari to her stomach, head facing the corner of the wall.

_Execute her, she is in no position to help. She is a commando._

Skave pushed past The Intruder's voice.

"With the alarms going off, the codes have all been changed. Only Warden T'Maad has the code for this inmate's door," said the hostage. "They are being scrambled."

"She is not going to take kindly to that request," said Ferogi.

"Captain, you brought explosives, yes?"

"I have some breaching charges, Skave."

"Good. Set them up on the door."

As T'Mar placed the magnetic explosive on the door, Skave scrutinized these alien surroundings.

Why would they make this place a resort for the prisoners?

Maybe the inside of the cell was a barren box and dark—it had to be. A prisoner could get used to spending time here; maybe call it their home.

"Do you know who is behind this door?" asked Skave, crouching to the asari commando.

"They do not give out inmate's names. They go by numbers and this is B1. He's a human and that's all I know."

"How long has B1 been here?" asked T'Mar, chewing on her tongue as she slipped the breaching charge onto the heavy door.

"A couple of years I think?"

T'Mar seemed distressed. Her hands shook as she pressed a button on the charge and a green light blinked to life.

"What is behind the door you were hiding in?" he asked.

"That is the session room," said the hostage, her voice trying to contain a quiver.

"What do you do in there?"

"I give B1 psychotropic drugs, and it is not the stuff used for therapy."

Skave sensed that was not all she did in there, so he pressed his firearm into her ribs, making her flinch.

"_Ouch, ah ah, _I sometimes give B1 electric shocks and break his toes—whatever his owner wishes be done to him, I do."

"Alright, the charge is hot!"

Something did not seem right to Skave. Nothing lined up. This whole place was a nightmare. There were too many corners to cover—too many unturned pages to fully understand Hubris and its employees. T'Mar wiped a dribbled of blood off her forehead from the slight wound Skave gave her and walked back to the elevator.

"This is not going to kill us, right?" asked the hostage as Skave grabbed her by the collar and pushed her into the elevator.

"It's a shaped charge designed to take doors out just like this. The concussion should be minimal," said T'Mar.

They took cover behind the collar of the elevator's opening. T'Mar activated the safety with her omni-tool and gave everyone the thumbs up, then detonated it. A sharp and hollow _bang _bellowed from down the hallway. There was no debris.

Anxious, Skave walked around the corner with his sub-machine gun raised, expecting a beast of a man to come charging out of the light-blue haze and tear him open—gut him with both hands.

Instead, the door remained much the same, save a black punctuated star where the charge set off and a small melted pinhole. The green keypad on the door still required a password to gain access.

"The doors have layers of kinetic barriers in the metal, so your breaching charges shouldn't work," mentioned the hostage sitting cross-legged in the elevator. "Checkmate."

A kinetic barrier would deflect the shaped charge's jet of molten copper from slicing through the door. It makes sense.

The hostage's smirk almost forced Skave to stick a bullet right between her eyes.

"There is no other way to get into that door. With Warden T'Maad in her panic room, she is untouchable and the code is inaccessible. You either leave now and try to escape with your lives and not kill B1, or stay here and B1 can become your cell buddy. Either way, you lose," said the hostage.

This cannot happen.

The holographic screen that required a pass code taunted him.

He cannot fail this mission a human appointed him.

Failure had happened to him only once and that was ten years ago. Now was his chance to make it up.

"I am _not _here to kill B1—Walter Spinnaker, I am here to take him."

"You…you _what_?" spat the asari hostage. "Why would you want to _unleash _him?" she screamed.

"You will soon see for you will be unwillingly cast into the plan."

"You idiots! You don't understand him! You cannot unleash him, you just… can't! It will be the end of us!" she yelled, her smooth voice becoming chafed with fear.

Ignoring the hostage, Skave opened his omni-tool.

Good, the network was still available down here. They did not set an omni-network blocker up. It was likely Warden T'Maad did not see infiltrators ever entering her compound. There was no need for one in a prison. Skave called up one of his good agents and he now understood why Andrea Strong had given him the two-million credits. It was not for bribery, it was to cover the cost of information—the code to Walter Spinnaker's cage door.

On the first ring, his Shadow Broker agent picked up, his voice covered in deep voice-masking.

"What do you require?" asked the voice, void of emotion and care.

"I need the password to Walter Spinnaker's cell, B1, for the prison Hubris on Illium," said Skave. "It has a scrambler up and I need help."

"One moment."

The agent put Skave on hold for five seconds.

It felt like five minutes.

"I require a sum of one and a half million credits. That will get you the information you require."

Andrea had done her research.

Skave gave his agent the account information.

"Credits received. I will send you the password through a text message," burbled the voice as he hung up.

"The Shadow Broker is connected to Hubris?" asked the hostage, a glint of terror flashing like a gunshot in the pupils of her eyes.

Skave ignored the question and opened the message and viciously peered at the password.

AURORA PROPHECY

Using the keypad, Skave slowly punched in the password and the red ball on the holographic screen flickered green. The metallic pounding of locks shifting inside of the door startled him and the door staggered open.

"You are making a mistake," whispered the hostage from inside the elevator.

"Captain, watch her," barked Skave.

The asari nodded and trained her pistol at Walter's caretaker. Skave grabbed the milled metal door handle and pulled it open.

His artificial heart pumped molten blood through his arteries.

"I have been anticipating this day for quite some time now."

The voice came in from the room.

Its tone was not what Skave had anticipated. He expected guttural moans and grunts emitting from a beast chained to the floor of its cage, tattered clothing covering barely contained packs of muscle.

Instead, the room was lavished in expensive furniture. A leather reading chair sat in the center, a wall of books to the left, and a dark wooden four posted bed with a mosquito net sat to the right—the golden sheets pulled tightly over the king sized mattress. A single lamp was turned on. It was poised on a coffee table to the right of the black leather wing-backed chair, its green stained glass shade posing a mellow, honeyed shade of light over the worn armrest of the chair. The melodramatic room was less staggering than the man who sat in the chair, leg folded over the other with a book in his right hand.

His face was hidden.

Finally, Skave had met Walter Spinnaker.

"Please, feel free to make yourself at home," offered Walter in a suave, cool voice. It chilled Skave to the bone. "Please," ushered Spinnaker with a wave of his hand, the darkness pulled over his face like a mask.

Shadow still persisted on his face—it was a veil to his identity.

"Walter Spinnaker?" asked Skave.

"Could you please not point your firearm at me. I can see your finger is on the trigger. I am an ally to you, so if you will, demonstrate proper trigger safety around me," he said charismatically. Skave could see light reflecting off his upper lip tracing a blithe smile.

Skave lowered his weapon.

"How did you know I was coming for you?" asked Skave.

"I have seen it."

"Seen it how?"

Skave walked closer.

Cautiously.

"Mr. Atrerius, I watched you walk into this room two nights ago," said Walter with a subtle chuckle.

"How?" Skave persisted.

The room was dark.

Walter seemed to be the cause of it.

He was blacker in that chair than the vacuum of space.

A chill tickled the nape of Skave's neck.

"In my dreams, of course," he said, his voice was almost childish.

"How do you know my name, Walter?" asked Skave, wanting to fire a burst into this shadow of a man to see if it was solid or an apparition of a character in his nightmares.

Walter switched legs and leaned deeper into his chair, sighing, propping the book on right knee.

"Do you believe in God, Mr. Arterius?"

The question took him by surprise.

"What?"

"He gave me a gift—the power to see into the future whenever I close my eyes and fall asleep." Walter stood and Skave could see a sparkle in his inky eyes hiding deep in the shadows. "Now, I have been supplied with a copious amount of books, most of them good, some of them mediocre, and some of them outrageous. Have you ever heard of Thomas Paine—the American author?"

Skave was caught off guard again. He had no knowledge of human literature.

"No, I have not."

Walter Spinnaker stepped from the shadows and revealed himself. Skave stared into his icy eyes and cleanly shaved, sun deprived face.

"I have been studying Thomas Paine's _Common Sense _and even I, a true believer in God, have questioned my belief through the course of this book." Walter Spinnaker, distressed and deeply concerned, peered away and scratched his wide cleft chin. "Now, if I question a belief that is supposed to run off pure faith because we obviously have no evidence that He exists, what does that explain about me?"

Skave caught his eyes as he looked back up. They were that of a child's—harmless and sincere.

"If you question a greater power—God in your case, then you do not truly believe."

"That is the thing, I _do _believe he is real and does exist. My altruism towards him has been shattered, but—" He sighed, obviously conflicted and not concerned about his safety and escape. "This is not the time to be discussing this," he admitted, to Skave's relief. Walter brushed a sheet of blond hair out of his face and to the side. He was tall, well toned and nicely kept, even in a prison.

"Why all this?" asked Skave.

"Hubris."

"I don't get it."

"This is what they took away from me when I was torn from my house on the Citadel. That over there is my bed on which I slept, made love to my wife, created my two little girls. They taunt me with my belongings while trapped in this prison. This noir setting—the darkness—has symbolism much like the cinematic genre: film noir."

"I am not familiar," admitted Skave, whispering, enthralled by this man.

"_Femme fatale_. I made quite a lot of money in my prior occupation. I was proud of it—even arrogant of my gift from God; He had been so good to me and when I tried to act like him, I was punished. My arrogance got to me, much like all the inmates here, hence the name: Hubris. They have made me a better man because of this," he chuckled with a bashful grin on his face.

This man was broken in spirit and no longer a threat. This whole operation was a waste. How could such a childish man—such a simple man who believed in the supernatural start a war and be so dangerous?

Walter scratched the back of his head and winced in pain.

"Ignore that," he said. "_Common Sense _was an interesting read and has changed me. I quote Paine: 'we are the finest particle of dew in the whole ocean.' Do you know what he is talking about, Mr. Arterius?"

"I have not read that book," said Skave, feeling dwarfed.

"Thomas Paine means to tell us that we are so small and insignificant in the large scale of things. I, however, am the one particle that contains a pathogen—a virus. I have the ability to change the flow of the ocean—kill most living things."

"I see."

"No," laughed Walter, "No you don't. You have no idea what I can do."

"We should get going," ordered Skave, not wanting to play this game any longer.

"Ah yes," he admitted, "I am babbling. I never have anyone to talk to down here except characters in books—characters that are free. I want to be free once more and enslave everyone else."

"Follow me," Skave barked to Walter, leading this stupid, delusional human out of his cell.

Skave's voice was muffled by the carpeted floor of the cell as if he was talking into a pillow. He could not get a sense of where the ceiling ended or how large the room was for shadow enveloped its entirety. This room housed evil.

"Yes, I would like to see the sun again. I have lost my tan," he said.

Walter stepped out of his surrogate home and into the hallway. His blue jumpsuit was a tight fit around his broad shoulders and his hand clasped Thomas Paine's _Common Sense _where he had bookmarked certain pages with paper—pages of other books he did not find interesting.

Walter stood in the hallway and took a deep breath, staring at the pistol laying on the ground that the asari hostage had dropped. He picked it up and Skave was ready on the trigger.

"There is no need for apprehension, my turian friend. Once I loop the noose around the galaxy's neck and kick it off their stool, then you can shoot me."

He picked up a cup from the food dolly and poured himself some water, eying his caretaker and torturer. Captain T'Mar nervously avoided eye contact with Walter and she breathed heavily.

"I have a presence, do I not?" he asked the two asari. "Laani, my dear caretaker, it is good to see you while not influenced by your drugs or strapped to a table and having my toenails pulled out by you."

His voice was eerily calm and showed genuine sincerity towards her.

"Would you like some water, my dear?" he asked Skave's hostage.

She shook her head.

"We should leave her here, Mr. Arterius."

Skave glanced at Walter as he sipped his water. Why wouldn't he want to kill her? She had been hurting him—destroying his person for a long while.

"Refreshing." He commented, setting the water down through a hiss.

"We had a deal, don't let him hurt me," said the hostage named Laani.

"I won't hurt you, Laani. You are the chisel that carved me into a better, _stronger _man."

Walter opened a drawer on the dolly and pulled out a hypodermic needle and a vile of clear fluid.

"Bring her to me," Walter ordered T'Mar with an aimless smile on his face. With his charisma, he could have just asked the hostage to walk on over there and she would have complied.

"_No_!" screamed Laani, squirming in T'Mar's grip.

Walter precisely pulled the cap off the needle and pricked the rubber top of the vile.

"This is my 'medicine' is it not?" asked Walter, grabbing Laani by the arm.

She did not answer.

Skave looked on, horrified.

"How many CCs do you usually give me?" asked Walter, pulling the plunger of the shot, filling the shaft with the psychotropic drugs.

Skave noticed Walter's finger nails were gone. Tender scabs kept his fingers from bursting open and bleeding.

"Twenty CCs, I promise," she pleaded.

He sighed and grabbed her by the neck. She tried to gasp, but nothing came through. Her eyes cartoonishly bulged and watered.

"I have seen you inject fifty CCs into my arm before. Never lie to me, I do not like being lied to. Since you just _did_ lie to me, I am going to put _five_ times the volume into you as my fingernails from my left hand would like some revenge as well."

His smile persisted as he measured out the perfect amount of the drug and flicked the shaft with his good hand, getting all air bubbles out of the fluid.

"Hold still now, my sweet."

His voice was like that of a doctor talking to a six year old patient. Lanni bucked and gurgled as the needle pricked her skin.

"Hush now, sweetie. Squirming is only going make it worse." Laani dropped to the floor as Walter let go of her neck. His hand print stained white on her skin and her eyes locked onto Walter, still conscious, unable to move.

"What is that overdose going to do to her," asked Ferogi, clearly disturbed by Walter.

"_The slightest noise is going to send her into a frenzy_," he whispered. "_Any sharp noise_ _with that overdose is going to give her a seizure and turn her into a paraplegic—send her into a coma for the rest of her life where her brain is still active and plays nightmares for the remainder of her days, which is a thousand years. Now, this is the fun part. This drug is kind of like a hypnotic substance—I can say anything and it happens in her dreams, much like a hypnotist does when you are under their spell. Oh how she had her fill of fun with me using this technique. _" Walter brought his lips right next to her ear, "_Spiders are eating you from the inside._"

Skave noticed Laani's arm flinch and she began to sweat.

"_Did you see that? For until she dies in her hospital bed a thousand years from now, she is going to be having the most realistic nightmare of being devoured from the inside by spiders._" Walter grabbed the metal water pitcher and a fork. Walter let the pitcher hover to the left side of her face and he tapped the metal pitcher with the fork.

_Ping._

Laani's eyes rolled to the back of her head and she slumped foreword, foaming at the mouth.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" asked Walter, standing up and analyzing T'Mar. The asari captain looked away. "Shall we depart? I am in need of some clothes and have two errands to run. I do not want to be late for either."

Wordless, the three of them walked back into the elevator, except Walter.

"Skave, I called in the Nos Astra Special Response to help take this place down since it is an abomination. The force should be here when we get upstairs."

"I am glad you feel that way, Iona T'Mar," said Walter with such smooth ferocity.

"You—"

"Yes I remember you, Iona," said Walter, grasping the pistol.

Skave sensed something interesting was about to happen.

"You were my session manager a year ago when you worked here and I bet you were hoping that I wouldn't remember you. Of course humans think all asari look alike, am I right?" Walter paced towards T'Mar. "You see, this is why I believe in God—divine intervention." He threw his hands up and pointed the loaded firearm at his head. "What are the chances that my old session manager would come and rescue me? This is God's plan and I must act upon it."

Walter pointed Laani's handgun at T'Mar's face. Her look was of surprise and she could not tell if silly string was going to come out of the barrel, or a bullet.

T'Mar's head kicked back as she fell forward and the pistol roared in the deep.

It made sense why T'Mar was acting so odd around Walter Spinnaker.

She tortured him before she left for the police force to rid the memories of this place—wash her hands with a badge and blue uniform.

Walter stripped T'Mar of her combat vest, her gun, and magnetic hip holster. With his blue jump suit, he would blend in with the other police that were coming or were already here. They might question why a human was wearing Nos Astra Special Response gear, but their momentary confusion would be persistent enough to where they could escape, and they planned on leaving as fast as possible.

This was a Spectre operation.

No one questioned them.

They took the elevator up and were met by Nos Astra's finest.

T'Maad was in cuffs and screaming profanity at the trio.

The three men jumped on the transport they came in on without being questioned because of their top status. As Skave hit the thrusters, cleared their vehicle through the radio traffic and hit the sky, Walter was in the back, scratching the back of his head and reading _Common Sense. _

He muttered a line from the book, "_Everything that is right or reasonable pleads for separation. The blood of the slain, the weeping voice of nature cries, 'tis time to part._"

Walter rested his head on the metal wall of the transport and laughed, finding a significant meaning to it.

"In my dreams, there was a quarian and a human that shared a last name," said Walter. "Mr. Arterius, you knew them."

"Toby Heiko and his wife, Nashira," said Skave bitterly.

"No, not his wife—there was another quarian, more important that Nashira. She looks like a sunrise—does that ring a bell?"

Skave thought hard about Toby's daughter, trying to dig up memories long past.

"Gia Heiko, she wore orange robes when she was only a child ten years ago."

"Yes, orange garb—orange is the color of a sunrise," said Walter, satisfied with himself.

Walter was silent for a moment.

"What can you tell me about them?"

Skave was hit in the face by fate, and for a fraction of a second believed in divine intervention. This man—Walter Spinnaker—was something dangerous, beautiful, and special. "Why do you want to know about them?" asked Skave.

"I am going to have to kill them."


	6. Chapter Five - Incendiary

**Remember, there is art that goes with each chapter on my blog on the BSN which is linked in my profile page! Check it out! The writing is only half of the story!**

**The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter Five - Incendiary**

Gia's morning was off to a bad start, _bad _being a massive understatement. Today had to have been the second worst day in her pathetic life.

She grinned under her mask—her smile shaking with menace and raw, bare nerves.

There were only a couple of hours left before they let the students out.

_So far so good. _

That actually meant no police had shown up at her classroom door with handcuffs and guns drawn. How long was she going to be able to get away with _murder_?

Mr. Burns commanded the front of the classroom. He stared down his twenty-eight students, all of whom glared back, stewing in a room rank with fear. He was the teacher of the engineering class that used CAD (Computer Aided Design) to do designs on drafting software. As the semester was coming to an end in a couple weeks, Mr. Burns set out on a zealous warpath regime filled with exams and pop quizzes. Both of Mr. Burns' hands rested on his slender hips, grinning, yellow teeth hidden under a full mustache. He could see the fear in his student's faces—he enjoyed it.

Gia forcefully smiled back and held the grin.

"Okay, I hope you all studied for your exam today," he said, readjusting those thick glasses, his cataract muddled eyes fogging his student's future expectations, grades, and endeavors. He enjoyed toying with his kids and giving them a tough time—he was an old school human teacher. "You are going to need it because I am giving you a shape and using descriptive geometry, you need to give me its true dimensions."

"What about the vocabulary?" asked Laura, Gia's arch nemesis. She was a big time bitch.

"I lied about that," laughed Mr. Burns.

The class moaned, all except Gia whose teeth were clenched and fists sewed shut with anticipation, the emotion not being fueled by the incoming exam.

Everyone's hearts had to have been jogging inside their ribs, but Gia's was performing a triathlon, jumping hurdles, dodging bullets, and dancing a samba with the arteries. For five hours, she had been scared shitless because of what happened at Milgrom Intergalactic. What scared her even more was that _nothing has happened_.

"You have until the end of class to finish. When you are done, send it to the front desk and you may head to lunch," said the teacher.

This was no time for an exam. She was going to have a hard time keeping her mind on the test and steadying her fingers enough to adequately complete the point and click drawing. She just killed someone and was evading the police; now she was sitting at her desk with a handgun stashed in her bag and avoiding the police that had to have been searching for her.

Who was she kidding?

She just killed a person not four hours ago and she was worrying about getting a good grade? It had not truly sunken in quite yet. The exam appeared on the monitor built into her desk. The shape was some sort of deformed octagon skewed and at an awkward angle. Using the two-dimensional screen, they had to find the true lengths on each line while the shape was at this odd perspective. It was a pain in the ass to the other kids, a cake walk for her.

Gia grabbed her mouse and shot a quick glance at the front of the class. Mr. Burns gave her a wink and crossed his arms—his blue plaid long sleeved shirt looked like a straight-jacket strangulating his avian anatomy. He had sawdust on his blue jeans from the woodshop class earlier that day. Laura sighed, seeing the teacher's pet—Gia in this case—get undeserved treatment.

Since Bekenstein was a human colony, Gia was the only "alien" in the school of twelve hundred students, all human. There was a turian several years ago but his family packed up and moved, tired of the discrimination. Bekenstein shined like a ripe piece of fruit hanging in the galactic fruit tree, its outer shell soft, welcoming, and accommodating. It is called the human's Illium. Little did outsiders know the planet has three parasitic worms devouring the inside called racism, pride, and prejudice. Gia was now on the receiving end, but it had hardened her—crudely shaped a verbal carapace where insults ricochet off her shell. It also made her an anti-social prick and an outcast. She had quite a few acquaintances in school, people who willingly invited Gia into groups when the teacher would say, "_Partner up!"_ for a chemistry experiment or to talk discuss Walt Whitman.

Those two words have been mentally checked off as Gia's least favorite words in her _I Hate Those Words _list.

_Laura Mackintire_ was tied with _partner up._

"Gia, when you are done with the exam, I want you to stay behind," said Mr. Burns.

The whole class _ooooooooooh'ed_ at Gia.

"_Shaddup,_" she said back, having a tough time holding back a subtle chuckle.

Her class was tight since all of them had been together for four years. Most of those aformentioned acquaintances were in this class, including Gia's best friend, Norry Beck, her pudgy human friend who sat right next to Gia. Norry also caught a lot of verbal flack since the beginning of high school, her weight being the primary target.

For a split second, Gia forgot she had killed someone, and that Detective Landford had called her as she was fleeing the crime scene at the spaceport garage where a goddamn firefight had occurred.

On Gia's HUD, she noticed three missed calls, one from her dad, Toby or Allen, she didn't know what that asshole went by anymore, and two from Detective Landford.

What did the Detective want with her and why did he call right after she killed someone? Sure he was a family friend, but he was also fully able to throw Gia into a jail cell for twenty plus years.

Using the mouse, Gia started with the closest line, trying to find its true length.

She did not have the nerve to pick up the detective's phone calls since locking down a tight alibi was her primary objective. Gia told her mom that she arrived at school early to study and she decided to stay with that story, even if her boss, Chef Athena, had seen her at work and has her location documented when she punched in.

It was worth a shot.

Why her dad called her, she did not know. She had not talked to him since she saw him last, two weeks ago. Their conversations always detonated into a mushroom cloud with radioactive fallout anyways and she had the feeling he did not want to get caught on fire again.

She also noticed he left a voicemail. That will be deleted without a second thought.

The first part of deciphering descriptive geometry was always the toughest. Once Gia cracked the code, she began finding the sides with ease and soon finished the exam.

"Mr. Burns," asked Laura with the sweetest voice possible. All Gia heard was sugar coated rat poisoning. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

Gia bored a hole into the back of Laura's skull. Her hair resembled the assassin she killed—long and golden, like the rays of the sun, but Gia could only think of how the sun causes cancer. Maybe Laura's hair gave her brain cancer—made a tumor that pushed on the frontal lobe making her act like an aggressive bitch.

"No, you 'can't,' Laura."

"_May _I go to the bathroom?" she asked out of the corner of her mouth and Gia pictured Laura rolling both eyes in annoyance at Mr. Burns.

"Yes you _may_."

Gia watched her walk out on those long legs. Gia always though Laura's dad must be a blind guy who married and had a daughter with a giraffe, and Gia always hoped Laura would slam her head on the door frame walking out of a room.

With a swipe of her finger, Gia fired Mr. Burns the test and stood up to go into the woodshop to pass time. She should have browsed the extranet on news articles about the shootout, but didn't feel like throwing up.

"Are you done already?" asked Mr. Burns, dumbfounded.

"That was too easy, Mr. Burns."

"I gave the rest of the class a handicap and you still get done first," he said.

"You…" Gia looked over at Yen's desk, one of her rivals in an academic sense, to check his test. Indeed their shape was different and easier. "Well I _am _smarter than everyone here," Gia quipped. Yen covered his monitor with his backpack and whispered profanity at Gia with a combustible frown.

"You're just mad, Yen, because your hair looks like a mushroom," said Gia, laughing.

"My mom cuts my hair," he said back, his voice deeper than what should have come out of that frail body.

"Your mom should feel bad then."

"Gia, stop talking during the exam," hissed Mr. Burns, swiveling in his chair to aim himself fully at Gia.

Gia threw her hands up and went into the woodshop adjacent to the classroom.

Mr. Burns, in his younger days, was a professional motorcyclist and in the corner of the woodshop was his own racing bike, its carbon-fiber shell taken off revealing the engineering porn that is the frame and engine of the super-bike. He was the one that talked Gia into getting a petrol powered bike—he said it is the most pure driving experience.

Gia could feel the extra weight of the pistol in her backpack. It constantly tugged at her, desiring more attention.

It terrified her and the gravity of this situation _slammed_ things back into perspective.

Her stomach grumbled, but the thought of putting food into her skull was revolting. The shattered face of Fireneck flashed in her mind's eye.

The white splintered bone.

Oil spilled pupils.

The lagoon of blood.

_So much blood._

Gia walked over to the tool cabinet and grabbed a chisel, the slimmest she could find, and put it into her pocket. Paranoid, she shot a glance at Mr. Burns having the feeling he saw her. Instead, he was grading her exam at his desk, nodding in approval.

Bringing a live firearm into a school would get her a ticket into jail. The thought of dumping it into the school's dumpster crossed her mind, but what if the assassins that were supposedly chasing her walked in during class or at lunch?

What if someone saw her dumping the firearm?

What if they traced it back to her?

What if Harris Liebermann was telling the truth about the assassins and her dream and the things she saw in her dream?

_The numbers.  
The lullaby.  
The two hot yolks._

_The sunrise._

_The lake._

_The three eggs in a basket._

_The terrorist attack in front of King's Bank and the profoundly odd correlations._

Keeping the chisel in her pocket or backpack might save her life in a snatch and if she did get caught with it, she would not be tossed into the back of a police cruiser, rather get chewed out by the principal. Maybe suspended, but she could always use the excuse of _I forgot I was carrying it._

The same could not be said about a goddamn handgun.

None of it made sense, but a man put his life down to tell Gia. She had to figure out what it all meant. Surely it was all real and the nut job Doc knew what he was talking about. To Gia's left, she heard her name being said by an all too familiar voice.

Gia's heart punched her in the chest and she ducked down out of sheer animalistic instinct to survive.

Officer Grant, one of the school cops had walked into Mr. Burns' room in search for his star student.

"Is Gia Toshiko here today, Mr. Burns?" he asked in what Gia's human classmates called a "Scottish" accent, which was rare nowadays.

"What did she do now?" asked Mr. Burns.

All of Gia's classmates had stopped their exam and looked curiously to the police officer.

"I was just wondering where she was," said the officer who looked like a two-hundred and fifty pound bald, pale bear.

"She walked into the woodshop not a minute ago," said Mr. Burns.

"Thanks.

Three wide glass windows looked out over the classroom from the shop, so if Gia stood she would be in full view of Officer Grant. On all fours, Gia crawled over to the emergency exit, slowly opened the door, and shuffled out into the hallway, avoiding Officer Grant. The door protested with a rusty groan, but the officer did not hear its alert. Gia released a wide breath of air and leaned against the metal door. Two freshmen getting books from their lockers gave Gia an odd stare. Gia saluted them and slowly got to two feet.

"I went that way," she said, pointing to her left.

The two boys nodded, realizing she was a senior and wanted respect from their higher classmen.

"You two have block one lunch, right?" she asked, their two freckled faces seeming oddly familiar.

They both nodded in unison.

"I will buy you both soft drinks later. Thanks," she said, slapped their hands, and ran down the hallway and towards the girl's bathroom that should make for a decent hiding spot. Officer Grant would not look in there because she is a quarian and her suit does everything for her. Seldom had she stepped foot in the bathroom during her almost four years of attending school here. During her freshmen year, she sometimes stopped in the bathroom—dismissed herself from class to think and cry over what she did all those years ago to her family.

She was a stronger, tougher woman than that pathetic little quarian she once embodied. Never did she want to become like her former self ever again in any circumstance. In the near future—through this soon to be long and brutal journey that she is going to have to endure on her own, certain situations might break her into pieces, but no matter what, she promised to herself that she would pick herself up and try her best to glue those itsy bitsy fragments of Gia back together.

The bathrooms in Milgrom Central High School were particularly nice—slate floor, timber wolf gray quartz sinks, and spotless. While Gia's reactions were fast, she had not thought through the situation, and found herself face to face with an acerbic creature sitting on the sink smoking a cigarette.

Laura slowly craned her head towards Gia—who pressed her back against the wall—and let out a smug grunt curled in tobacco smoke that smells like vanilla.

"You aren't going to tell on me, are you?" asked Laura, waving the cigarette cockily.

Gia poked her head around the corner of the bathroom and spotted Officer Grant walking down the hallway, his heavy boot-steps sounding like war drums—his handcuffs jingling like chain mail—a sword loose it its sheathe. Gia largely ignored Laura. Her heart pounded blood through her skull—behind her ears and worked its way into her neck. Why was Officer Grant taking his dear old time trying to find her?

Shouldn't the whole police department be storming the school in search of Gia, the assassin killer; Gia the murderous line cook?

Did Detective Landford hint to Officer Grant that Gia was a suspect—a criminal in the Milgrom Intergalactic Spaceport shootout? Milgrom had an excellent police force—Gia knew them all too well. How have they not found her yet? In Gia's honest opinion, she expected a Special Response team to breach into her first class during roll-call and take her away for the murder of Miss Blond Woman Killer and the crazy doctor, Harris Liebermann.

Laura stared out the doorway at Officer Grant passing by. She casually blew smoke out of the corner of her prissy mouth and rolled her eyes, not caring if she was caught or not. It was the end of the year.

"Are you hiding from someone, Gia Toshiko?" asked Laura, loud enough for the Officer to hear her.

Laura sneered at Gia.

"_What the fuck is wrong with you_?" snapped Gia, whispering. "_What have I done to you_?" Gia's temper was not on simmer, but "burn-the-shit-out-of-everything" high. This was Gia's freedom and life on the line. She had to build up a strong alibi and not get caught by the officer lurking in the hallway in search of the quarian murderer.

"I don't really know, to tell you the truth," admitted Laura, dabbing her cigarette off the edge of the porcelain sink.

"What? Are you kidding me?"

"I guess I don't like the look of you."

"You have been giving me shit because you don't like the look of me?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Gia leaned off the wall and walked closer to Laura, asking in a low whisper, "Let me get this straight: you have put me through utter embarrassment and pain all these years because you 'don't like the look of me'?"

Laura blew smoke in Gia's face. The plume was deflected by her orange tinted mask.

"Yup. Officer Grant?" she said while still sitting on the sink, swinging her long legs that were barely covered with a strap of denim, shattering the dress code. "Gia is in he—"

Gia grabbed Laura's mouth and shoved her head into the mirror above the sink. A spiral crowned Laura's head as her hard skull knocked the glass mirror and her blue eyes shot open in shock and probably pain.

Good.

"_Don't say another word_," zipped Gia.

After all these years of holding back pent up rage, it was time to release the pressure cooker of frustration inside—pull off the cap before the steam hissed out.

Laura meekly kicked Gia in the thigh in a futile attempt to get the short quarian off her.

She could not hear Officer Grant in the hallway anymore. Gia reasserted herself in keeping a hand covered over Laura's bitchy, loud mouth.

"_Mef off fme vumver uffer_."

Laura had no idea what she was restraining, no idea what Gia had gotten into. The worst thing Laura had done was get marked off on homework or stay out with her jackass friends after Mommy and Daddy's curfew, drinking until they vomited off the balcony of their favorite club, too weak to stomach the hard stuff.

Gia let go of Laura.

"Goddamn it, Gia! What's your problem?"

"You might think it would be you, but sorry to tell you, babe, but it ain't you," said Gia.

"You're a freak. You want to know why people hate you?"

Gia stood silent.

"You're an asshole to everyone. Your attitude towards others is negative."

"Oh, and yours isn't?" Gia almost screamed.

The Devil had appeared on Gia's shoulder, his trident poised above his head, ready to spear and skewer.

"We tried to show you hospitality but once you got to high school—into your freshmen year, you changed," said Laura.

Gia crossed her arms and said, "You have _no _idea what happened to me over that summer. I've felt more pain than you ever will."

Laura grimly smiled, like Death had slashed her face with his sickle. When Gia gets into arguments with people, she sometimes knows by the look on their faces that something vile or hurtful was going to come out of their mouths before actually saying it. Gia had that feeling.

"There has been a rumor going around about what happened—what _you _did."

Laura's words were coated in poison, making Gia want to throw up. They hit harder than any punch in any bar fight she had been in.

"We know what you did, Gia Toshiko."

Laura walked out of the bathroom, dabbing her cigarette out on Gia's chest, putting a black pockmark on her orange robe.

"How?" Gia asked more to herself as Laura walked out.

Suddenly, the whole murder did not seem as bad as the news she just received. It was a closely guarded secret that only her parents, some of her teachers, a small portion of the police force, and Detective Landford knew about—possibly even Chef Athena.

In a daze, Gia walked out of the bathroom, her thoughts flurrying in front of her eyes, blocking out Officer Grant's monstrous form standing right in front of her.

"Gia, I was looking for you," he said, his accent thick and swoopy.

"You got me, Officer," she said, pressing both wrists into the officer's stomach.

This is how it was going to end, how she was going out and without a bang—more like a wet whistle, much like slowly releasing the air from a balloon.

"Okay, stop acting goofy, Gia. Your counselor, Dr. Jeff, needs to see you up in his office," said Officer Grant.

"Wha-what?"

She could not believe it.

"Dr. Jeff wants you. You know, it's your quarterly diagnosis."

"Oh," she said, perking up, "It's that time again?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Officer, I will head up there right now. Thanks for letting me know."

Puzzled, yet delighted and empowered with a sense of renewal, Gia briskly power walked towards the stairs that led to the second story of her school and to the counselor offices.

"Get over it and move on," she told herself, blowing air out of the corner of her mouth—subtly releasing the steam, the stress. Maybe Laura was lying, fighting Gia with psychological warfare. On the thought of psychological warfare, Gia came to the sudden and blunt realization of where Officer Grant had sent her—basically to her death.

The guidance counselor.

For four years, four times a year, she had to see Dr. Jeff to talk about her problems with him to painful depths. It was an infuriating tug of war game. Dr. Jeff was always so happy to see her, where Gia, on the other hand, was ready to flip his pompous desk, smash him with his chair, and push his limp cadaver out the window.

"Just kill me now," she puffed as she grabbed the handle to the guidance counselors' offices and pushed it open.

"Oh hello, Gia!" said Mrs. Jona behind the desk.

"Hey," waved Gia.

"Don't forget to sign in!" she squealed, grinning madly at Gia. All Gia could do was shluf her right shoulder and cock her head in an _are you kidding me_ crook. Mrs. Jona looked like a slug sprouting from her desk, her segmented rolls of fat resembling those of a worm, tapering to a tip that was the orange bun on her head. If Mrs. Jona was any dumber, she probably would have devoured her hair ornament thinking it was a cinnamon roll, and then proceed to lick the hair spray off her sausage fingers thinking it was icing.

"_Nah, _I'm good."

"Honey, you must sign in," she persisted, holding a steady grin.

Gia peered at Dr. Jeff's oaken door, wanting to get it over with, then at the holographic notepad. She needed to build a solid alibi documenting where she was and at what time was going to be key. Gia, without reluctance, skipped to the holopad and signed her name. Gia let the angel on her other shoulder take over. Soon, the police would be asking questions once they suspected Gia as the perpetrator in the shootout. Having people say she was in a good mood was going to further slow the police's progression and maybe even get them off her tail. She was taking a risk, staying at school. It was a risk worth taking, or so she thought. She probably just cornered herself and had not even realized it yet.

Gia finished putting her time of arrival in and fought the urge to slam the pressure pen into the desk, or even into Mrs. Jona's hand, that looked like someone had nuked a marshmallow.

With a satisfied _hrmpf_, Mrs. Jona crossed those pudgy fingers in her lap and observed Gia, who awkwardly stood there.

"He's taking a call right now," said Mrs. Jona. "He should be right with you."

"You look pretty today, Mrs. Jona," commented Gia, mustering a smile that she would not see behind the veil.

"Oh, why thank you, sweetheart!"

"I like your… _erm_, bun," said Gia, wishing to see Mrs. Jona grab her hair with those pudgy hands, unhinge her jaw, and swallow her scalp like an overzealous snake devouring a rat too big for its own good.

"Really?" asked the receptionist, tapping her hair.

"Yeah, pulling your hair back makes your face look younger," Gia clumsily spat, realizing she just insulted poor old ugly Mrs. Jona. "No, I-I mean your face was beautiful before," stammered Gia, waving her hands in the air, constructing an invisible orchestra, "I mean to say it pulls your jowls back and… _ah shit_."

Under her helmet, Gia's cheeks combusted.

"Just… stop right there, sweetie pie," said Mrs. Jona after being eviscerated by a suited alien who knew nothing about fashion.

"I suck at talking to people, you—"

"Just stop."

"I mean to say… _okay._"

Gia showed her back to Mrs. Jona, whispering, "_Sorry_."

Gia entered the sitting area as instructed and stared at the surroundings in disgust. She hated this place, hated herself. She hated it when people tried to help with problems that did not need tending to and hated how they probed her mind—treating her like some kind of damn brain dead kid who couldn't take care of her own goddamn problems. She is not some sort of vegetable with two legs encased in a garage bag with a dirty fish bowl for a head. These quarterly "meetings" ever since the Incident had begun to chafe the open wound into a diseased cyst pit. Gia glared at Mrs. Jona, and then to the chair awaiting her—its armrests were inviting Gia to sit on its blue cushioned lap, like she would with her father before going to sleep.

He used to tell her stories about adventures in space, all harrowing. Mom always yelled at him for telling such stories, but the danger put her to sleep, where boring stories filled with happy thoughts and peace made her want to slap her father—he knew better than to tell stories about romance and princesses. She wanted spaceship battles and lasers. Taking the backpack off her shoulder, she lobbed it into the chair's hollow embrace instead of submitting to its artificial hug. Only a chair would welcome a murder weapon so tolerantly, because it was a structure—a machine built for a single purpose: to let anything sit in its lap. A large window overlooked the school courtyard where water sprouted from the lips of a fountain and caught the afternoon sun's rays. The water fell planet-side like silver coins spraying from the vented mouth of a jackpot slot machine. It looked as hot as it felt outside. The end of the school year was approaching as were the record temperatures for the summer heat, yet the inside of this cursed waiting room resembled purgatory, was cold enough to chill dead bodies. That was how she felt in here: dead. Gia's counselor shifted from beyond the door and cleared his throat. As he opened the door, Gia turned her back to him and grabbed her backpack.

"Ms. Toshiko, how are you doing this afternoon?" Dr. Jeff asked Gia's back.

Gia knew she had to maintain a steady and content mood, for if the police were to investigate Gia as the suspect of the shootout, they would surely make contact with all the people Gia had seen and talked to the day of the incident.

A drop of hope rippled in an ocean of doubt deep in her stomach.

The security cameras would have… _should_ have caught her in the act and she _should_ have been apprehended minutes after the firefight. Many hours later, she was still untouched. This encounter with Dr. Jeff was going to be the hardest of them all. They got along like a rottweiler and a burglar.

Clawing at her backpack, she said, "Excellent," in the most pleasant tone she could possibly muster. To Gia, it sounded nervous and threadbare.

Dr. Jeff, taken by surprise with Gia's mood, smiled and waved at her to come in his office. She complied reluctantly.

Dr. Jeff closed the ten foot oak door behind Gia.

_Thwunk._

It was as if Dr. Jeff's office was vacuum sealed—cutting Gia off from the world so he could dominate her in this arena of psychological gladiatorial matches where both he and Gia would fight to no quick death: Dr. Jeff would usually bleed Gia out by the time he was done with her.

Gia stood in place, hand crimped around the padded strap of her backpack that concealed a weapon that had taken life.

Dr. Jeff smiled, his dimples sucking into his oily face and his black arrogant, yet sincere eyes sparkled with intrigue. His chestnut hair reminded Gia of a guinea pig's head, a common household pet here on Bekenstein. Norry, her good and only friend, had one locked up in a cage at her house. Even when the Doc spoke, his two front teeth were the only ones that showed when he opened his small mouth that had to be used only for feverishly chewing on carrots and other root vegetables. Gia imagined his little hands were paws when he crossed them under his chin.

He was, in a sense, a fur-less guinea pig in a blue and white striped dress shirt and gray slacks with a fresh doctorate degree in psychology and a master degree in xenocommunication that made him feel like the king of the whole fucking world. It was displayed on the wall behind him, so when you made eye contact with him, you couldn't help but stare at the fancy papering and blue cursive ink.

It gave the illusion that the framed certification was sitting atop his head just like a crown.

"So, you are feeling good today?" he started, opening a paw towards a seat to the left of his desk.

As soon as she sat down he would turn his chair to face hers; Gia hated sitting there.

Their knees always touched.

"Yeah, I am." She took a seat, clasping onto her backpack as she set it into her lap. She tried to think of stereotypical things to say—something a bitchy, spoiled teenage girl would spew. "Hopefully I can get into Culinary Arts of Thessia in a couple of months. I'm excited about starting a new life—fresh slate."

"You do have the requirements," said the Doc, his face more animated than it should have been. "And you are a very sharp girl," he said quickly, avoiding the subject of college.

The girls in Gia's school all swooned over Dr. Jeff. When word got out that Gia and the Doc were having quarterly sessions with each other, sometimes for hours on end, Gia could have built a yacht out of the female population's jealousy and sailed on their envy. He was young, friendly, charismatic, and apparently good looking to all of the girls.

Gia couldn't get past his fake smile, button eyes, over animated facial expressions, and the whole guinea pig correlation.

He was vile and disrespected Gia's psychological privacy.

Then again, he was supposed to break past those mental barriers Gia had constructed—that was what Mom and Toby wanted.

"I know I'm sharp," stated Gia, peering out the window and into Bekenstein's star. The sun outside was bright and buried itself deep into the back of Gia's head, triggering the hangover's last couple of blows before it melted away into a throb, then nothing.

There was an awkward silence and the Doc just smiled at Gia. Gia shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"What?"

"_Hm_?" hummed the Doc.

He stared at Gia longer.

"Are you trying to read my mind you creep?"

The Doc burst out laughing, but it was muffled by the stagnant and… _hostile _atmosphere in the room.

_Keep a friendly composure. _

"So, this is your last visit, Gia. I bet you are excited," he said, still smiling, leaning back in his chair, cupping the back of his head, trying not to fracture his gelled rodent hair. "We've had some good conversations in the past, haven't we, Gia?"

"Yeah, we have. I feel like I got to know myself better and have become a better person since the Incident. I am more mellow and conservative," she lied, trying to get out of this place as fast as possible. "You did well, Doc," she chuckled, punching him in the shoulder playfully.

Dr. Jeff was grinning so wide that his beady eyes were hidden behind folds of skin.

"You're lying, Gia," he fired back, grinning. "I can sense turmoil in you—a fuse lit to a thermonuclear bomb—thermite about to burn through your metal shell. You are packed full of incendiary chemicals."

He leaned forward, putting a hand on Gia's knee. Her skin crawled and she jumped, breathing heavily. Taking out the pistol and shooting him in the face momentarily crossed her mind. Gia's sixth sense felt this touch was different from the others. There was a negative, clammy energy to his hand.

Maybe it was just the whole situation of… well _killing_ someone hours ago that was hitting her.

This morning still felt like a dream—a _nightmare,_ and Gia was not at all shocked about what happened. She was more worried about getting caught.

"Gia," he said, his voice smaller than normal, "You can tell me anything."

"I have nothing to tell you, Doc."

"How are your folks doing? Are they okay?"

"Mom is pissed at me for being defiant," she truthfully said, her eyes flicking up from the Doc's hand into his smug smile. "And you are right, I did lie—nothing I said was true. I am getting worse—you being the culprit."

His hand left her knee and Gia was able to breathe again. She wanted to cut off her own leg, right above where his thumb was.

"What happened?" he asked, scooting closer to Gia, his tie swinging like a pendulum edging closer to Gia's throat.

The negative, radioactive energy he seemed to leak moments ago was completely gone. His intimacy and friendliness overwhelmed Gia. She thought to herself that she should just be truthful about anything he asked—do not deceive him, Dr. Jeff was going to win anyways, so she shouldn't prolong the pain.

"I went out drinking last night and got home a couple hours before waking up to go to school."

"Did you go with any friends?"

"This's a joke, right?"

Dr. Jeff put on a cryptic grin.

"I don't have any friends, Doc. You know that."

"What about Norry?"

"Are you kidding me?" she spat, laughing. "Norry is a hermit and has never missed a homework assignment in her life. The only way she might understand the word 'liquor' would be correlated with the black liquorish flavored jelly beans she buys at lunch."

"How is your relationship with your friend Norry?" asked Dr. Jeff, his upper lip curling, revealing his white rodent teeth.

"We are going to miss each other when I leave Bekenstein, though we promised to stay in contact."

"What does Norry think about you leaving?"

His tone was quiet and Gia could not understand what he was getting at. His knee bumped into Gia's.

She squirmed.

"All high school students must understand that after the four years together, we are all going our separate ways. Only an incompetent, selfish oaf doesn't understand that."

"This is our last time together, Gia," repeated Dr. Jeff.

A cloud outside blocked the sun.

"I am grateful for that."

Dr. Jeff's hand moved from Gia's right knobby knee to her upper leg, his spooned fingertips sliding to the inside of her thigh.

Murdering that blond assassin and watching the crazy old doctor named Harris Liebermann was traumatizing. The sight of Dr. Liebermann's disassembled skull flattened on the polished concrete floor of the garage—his dead gaze, expanding black pupils, and right eye that loosely swiveled in its socket paled in comparison to the touch of Dr. Jeff's hand. Gia dared not flinch in fear that he would explode—pounce and her screams would not be heard through the suffocation of the oak door.

"What do you mean you are grateful?" he asked, smiling maniacally.

Scurrying to find a breath, Gia whispered, "You're a horrible person. You haven't helped me one bit, but made me worse. Every time I come into this office, you try to wound me—probe at my sore spots that have scabbed over only to make them bleed again. You enjoy the pleasure of being dominant since you were probably bullied in high school. Joining college was the best thing you could have done. There you obtained weapons in which you are able to cleave into my mind and into the minds of others. When you saw an opening as a guidance counselor in a high school, you attacked that position until you got it. Now, you are making up the fantasy that you have always had as a teenager: being the most popular in school, getting the girls, and all that good 'ole perverted shit. I look into your eyes and see nothing behind that blank stare. You are a husk of a person, a fucked up pervert and you enjoy these sessions with me." Gia grabbed his wrist and pulled is sucker hand off her thigh. "You still do not understand why your poisonous spell has not worked with me. I should have been your slave by now—doing anything you wanted me to do like Laura did."

Dr. Jeff's wide smile slowly faded. Gia continued.

"There are rumors floating about that you two are together. You are angry at my resilience towards your mind games since Laura submitted so easily. When I come into your office and we have our sessions together, you try to dominate me and you think that you can. Guess what, pal? I act that way so I can get out. Sometimes, you do actually get an emotional response from me. Sometimes you do get in my head—not now though. I can call sexual harassment on you and get your ass fired, or maybe get you put in jail. This whole guidance counselor gig you are running is just a game, you psychopath. The sense of domination you hold over the opposite sex is thrilling to you and I'm your special little pet that has yet been cracked. You thought that maybe showing intimate contact with me by gently grabbing my thigh would break me since I am alone in this goddamn world. Just _maybe _I would fall into your arms, sobbing like some teenager who just went through their first breakup…you thought maybe you'd woo me enough and I would take off my mask for you. Well listen here, Dr. Jeff, you might not have figured me out, but I know you better than you know me. Being a quarian and having this suit, I have the capability to record everything I do. Your hand on me is recorded, so if you will excuse me, I am going to show this footage to Officer Grant. Then I am going to watch you get pushed into the back of his police cruiser in handcuffs. I hope you meet some big sweaty friends in jail that find you as enticing as you do me, so fuck you and have a nice day."

Gia pushed her chair back and walked towards the door, feeling insulted, violated, fighting the urge to break Dr. Jeff's face with the chair she was sitting on.

"Gia, before you show Officer Grant the footage, I have one question for you."

Gia spun around and noticed the grin still plastered across his face, like she hadn't just unloaded this nuclear bomb of information on him.

"I would love to hear you plead to me," said Gia vindictively. "Go on, kiss my feet and _beg_."

"Your parents set me up to monitor your psychological behavior four years ago—your freshmen year. They never told me why you snapped over the summer, they said it was none of my business, but I am friends with the police department."

Dr. Jeff leaned back his brown leather chair, propping his feet on the desk.

Gia's stomach dropped and she felt gravity ferociously tugging on her now serious face. She could still taste blood from her earlier encounter with One Thumb and Fireneck as she accidentally clenched, biting open the wound.

"It all makes sense now," he laughed, jabbing his finger at Gia from across the room. "Your parents got a divorce because you did something _very _naughty."

The divorce.

_Divorce._

That word packed a punch.

A day had not passed when Gia ponders upon what she did to her family—she essentially destroyed it in a single, blink-of-the-eye action four years ago, the summer right before starting high school. Because of her, Gia created a fissure in her parent's relationship. This only compounded with what they went through ten years ago on the Citadel with the Hunter and Citadel Security Special Response.

"That was my dad's fault," whispered Gia, fist on the door handle.

"Oh, you tell yourself that, yet I have come to the conclusion that it was your fault. You separate yourself from people because you believe that you ruin others' lives with your interaction. In fact, you are not the little bitch you seem to be, but an altruist in the crudest form. You are helping people by not bonding with them, subjecting yourself to all your hardships alone while not sharing your problems with other friends based off of your past experiences. Gia, you are killing yourself and I don't want to stop you."

Gia stood at the door and the cloud passed, light filling the room, illuminating a truly evil smile on Dr. Jeff's oily, smooth face.

"I hate you," muttered Gia, and for the first time in years, she felt tears brim on her eyelids. They were hot with anger.

"As does everyone else, my girl." Dr. Jeff stood from his chair and pushed his rat paws deep into his pockets while pacing to the window, staring out at the fountain, not making eye contact with his puppet.

"If you give that footage to the officer, you will regret it. I have the power to tell the Culinary Institute of Thessia to reject you due to psychological behaviors and problems, and that is me being nice. If I wanted to, I could have you thrown into a mental hospital."

He turned to Gia, still smiling, the sun throwing auburn highlights in his gelled hair. He was a burning man.

"I am your master while you are my puppet. I control you whether you like it or not," he said in such a jolly manner Gia would have thought he was joking. "I own this school and the kids in it. Yes, I am having a romantic relationship with Laura and have been for some time. You are all puppets," he finished, making gestures with his hands, turning them into puppet mouths. "Since I have proven to you I have power over you, I have one request before you leave my office."

Dr. Jeff walked over to the door where Gia stood and pushed in the lock, bolting the door shut. The atmosphere in the room became heavy and the thought of assassins, the dream, the numbers, the lake, the two egg yolks, the riddle, and the murder, all becoming a fantasy in which Gia would have preferred to endure.

Dr. Jeff's hands came up to Gia's face, groping for some sort of release hatch.

"I _need _to see your face before you leave. I've been giving therapy to a blank stare for four years and I deserve to see the person behind the mask."

Gia pressed her back against the door, unsure of what to do. Fight and her puppet master would snip her strings, leaving her out of college and in a mental hospital.

"Th-that will kill me," she whispered.

"I know," he whispered.

Gia pushed him off her and he went stumbling backwards, colliding with his desk. His coffee mug fell over, the hot brew spilling across his desk, steam throbbing from the puddle. He laughed and stroked his chin, ashamed and enraged. His oily cheeks went red with frustration and failure—the psychopath predator was _this _close to digging its teeth into his prized possession.

"I am going to put a call in later this afternoon, Gia," he said disappointed.

"I'm already ruined, you sack of shit. Anything you try to do to me is pointless."

Gia wanted to pull the gun out of her backpack and unload into his chest—turn him into a colander that siphoned blood from his organs.

"I know you are. Your parents do not love you, you have one friend that you are going to abandon soon, you have no future, you have destroyed the only stable thing in your life—your family—and now you are under my complete control. So think twice before submitting that footage. If you change your mind about things, I will be in my office waiting for you. If you come back, I will not ruin your life. I just want a peek."

He smiled, the red in his face subsiding.

"Have a nice lunch, Gia."

**The Citadel, Serpent Nebula**

Brian Hilliard punched the button to open the elevator door to his secondary apartment that was much closer to King's Bank than his other one. It had been several hours since his close encounter with death and since then, he used the shadows to his advantage and had camped out in a public restroom, trying to clean the gore off himself so when he went back out in public, he would not get stares and raise suspicion. His clothes were still damp and the blood on his legs had crusted over, tugging painfully on his leg hair. Luckily, Toby's leather jacket took most of the gray matter from that goddamn freak's explosive entrance. The leather wiped down easily as did his face and hands.

The elevator _binged _open and to Brian's luck, it was empty.

He punched his floor number and the doors closed, launching him up towards the sky.

He had to get the hell off this station, and the only way he was to do it was with the help of Pira.

He did not want to drag her into this. He was sure that he was going to leave a fingerprint behind that could lead trouble hurdling right into her lap. Over his dead body would any harm come to Pira.

This was like something ripped from a nightmare and planted into reality—an insane plot drawn out by a fiction novelist to test the elasticity of their protagonist. The freak he had faced in the bathroom was a shadow that lurked in the depths of REM sleep that held an insurmountable amount of power; an inky shape that had morphed to man. He was not… _natural. _The strength and resilience of that man had chilled Brian and the mere thought of him made his skin pimple. He remembered the firepower that suited monster just seemed to absorb in the bathroom. If Brian were any softer, he would have been ripped in half.

Brian had been tossed into something that was way over his head—way over anyone's head except for the panther running the show, Andrea Strong. Fate must have steered Brian into this. Lightning cannot strike twice. Ten years ago, he took part in one of the most confidential government screw-ups and now this? From his knowledge, politicians are not this corrupt—are not this surgical and cold blooded; they are supposed to be lying egocentric assholes, get funding from private parties, and corrupting society with the lure of money but not this bad. It is all about the money in politics. Maybe that was what was in those two black briefcases the well dressed agents were holding.

Andrea Strong was a different breed of politician—she is a terrorist in a dress with a marble throne coupled with a gavel and power. Something was different about her and those two bodyguards. They were on a different level of criminality—on the top most tiers.

Brian lumbered down the hallway to his room, feeling exposed as the lingering fear from earlier made him nervous that an unseen bullet to the skull or a knife between the ribs would hit him at any moment. He had to have been in the crosshairs of his adversary. One of his elderly neighbors glanced at him as he walked down the hallway with a concerned look kneaded into her furrowed brow. Maybe it was the bloodstains she saw or his lack of hair. Ignoring her, Brian pressed in the code to his door and it clicked unlocked.

He half expected a barrel to be riveted into the back of his pale head when he stepped into the apartment's foyer. As of this moment, his secondary apartment was one of the most dangerous places to be. The other suited freak would be looking for Brian and was probably fingering around in Brian's other apartment in search of clues.

Right now, Brian needed to get into the shower and wash away the filth that caked him. He grabbed a kitchen knife from his block on the kitchen counter and walked into the bedroom. It was just as he left it several months ago, this being a different apartment. If one failed to keep him safe, he always had a backup. His alarm clock painted his black curtains red. A folding chair was in the corner, a pair of pants hanging over the backrest. Six empty beer bottles were lined up on a small bookshelf. A single tangled sheet was draped over the corner of his mattress. His bed was bare and rested on the floor, but something was off. The mattress was crooked.

That was not the way he left it.

Brian raised the machine pistol, his hands white as marble and consuming the firearm.

A single sheet of paper rested in the center of his bed, purposely left there waiting to be found. It was the crossword puzzle that he put in the holding tank of the toilet. A pistol that he recognized sat under the paper—his firearm that was in his bag that the suited monsters took away from him before embarking on their mission.

Brian reasserted his Shuriken machine pistol and flicked the safety off while cautiously approaching his bed. Enough light from outside sliced into his bedroom through a sliver in the curtains as he read the note. He flipped it over and read the text.

Iapetus, as you were guessing, yes, we were here in search of you. We suggest you take your sidearm for protection, you will be needing it to defend yourself since we have unleashed our primary weapon system. What you saw back there was a small display of our power—soon you will see what we are fully capable of. Information is our specialty-we belong to a section of the government that does not exist. Brian Hilliard, we know who you are. We know you have been receiving information from an informant in C-SEC after aiding the release of Toby Heiko ten years ago. We know who she is and now you have given us the location of your old friend, Toby Heiko, based off the puzzle we found so recklessly tossed into the toilet. Our main armament has been loaded and is locked in on his targets. It is only even if we warn you of our intentions.

Best of luck,

S.P.I.D.R

"Oh shit, not Pira."

Brian's stomach dropped to his knees as he desperately attacked his omni-tool in an attempt to get in touch with Pira on her personal line.

"Shit," he hissed, fumbling the number. Never before had he felt this rush of dread. He has been shot at, hunted, and blown up, but never before had he felt this emotion that almost forced him to take a seat. If these people are part of the government, then they might have tapped into his omni-tool network even after Pira had hacked past the government controlled Orwellian style ONPA act, or Omni-tool Network Privacy Act. The government has eyes on everything.

"Pira speaking."

Brian sighed, almost dropping his weapon when heard her cool voice splash out of the orange holograph on his arm.

"Tell me, are you okay?" asked Brian.

"Give me one moment."

Her voice was calm and professional and Brian could hear shuffling, then silence after ten long, painful seconds.

"What in the hell are you doing?" snapped Pira through a whisper. "I am at work! You know, the place that wants to kill you? You know better not to call me!"

"Your voice is beautiful," sighed Brian through a chuckle as he leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes, collapsing to a heap. "Is everything alright? Is everything normal over there?"

Pira was quiet for a moment, picking up on the stressed tone in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah I am okay. How about you?"

"Have you seen the news?" he asked.

"No, I've been busy with a situation down by King's Bank."

"Yeah, well about that…"

"Oh by the Goddess."

Brian heard what sounded like a crowd talking in the background.

"Can you turn that up?" shouted Pira at a fellow co-worker. "Brian, your face is on the vids!" she hissed. "What have you done?"

"I am going to make this short. I am in the mood for some broccoli toppings in about an hour. I think it is time for a lunch break, Pira."

"Got it."

She hung up.

The shower was the most disturbingly refreshing act of hygiene Brian had ever endured. The metal drain clogged with bone fragments the size of clipped fingernails, clods of wet hair, little red clots of blood or brain matter, and of course, blood. He picked at his fingernails with the lint removing blade on a fingernail trimmer in a feverish attempt to get the blood out from under his nails. Ceramic powder from the destroyed sink cloyed his nose and all he could smell was the iron from blood, taste the metallic tinge of copper behind his tongue from the explosives, and feel the burning from the plastic explosive residue.

He toweled off and gave himself a quick glance at his reflection in the mirror. His gut folded over his belt line, so he sucked in. The face that stared him down in the shitty apartment room was hollowed out—gaunt and drained of life. For the first time in a long while, Brian Hilliard was scared, not only for himself, but for his friend, Pira.

He walked over to the corner of his room and picked through the dirty laundry pile for something close to fresh to wear. All of it stunk of mildew, high fructose corn syrup, and cheese flavored salt. When he moved to his other apartment, it was because he got spooked by shadows moving behind his door, out in the hallway in the middle of the "night." As much as he hated to admit it, the paranoia was hitting him hard, the mental wear and tear was too much—his hardheaded mentality had been boiled away to a mush over the past ten years. This new nightmare was going to test him.

Brian peered at his alarm that sat upon a pile of pornographic Fornax magazines. He had to be leaving soon in order to meet up with Pira.

This brush with death had made Brian realize that he was no longer invincible and that the N7 training he received nearly two decades ago had saved his life. He was a mortal playing with gods—a puppet whose operating cross was being manipulated by a puppet master. He was merely a puppet in this galactic charade that will end in a baptism of fire.

**Milgrom Central High School, Bekenstein**

If Gia had eaten anything in the past day, she would have thrown it all up. Her backpack was heavy, the gun heavier, her burdens made of depleted uranium, and the density of her situation with Dr. Jeff had the gravity of a white dwarf star. She was in trouble and only had herself to rely on. Gia stopped in the hallway, hand on a locker and breathed in.

Breathed out.

Breathed in.

Breathed out.

The most dangerous criminals are the ones that walk by and you do not even notice them. They are the ultimate predators, blending in with society—camouflaged as a sheep when they belong with a pack of wolves.

Gia had once heard a statistic where one out of one-hundred people are certified psychopaths. Gia, for one, knew she was one. Any normal girl would not be so easily inclined to complete a full day of school after a bar fight followed by a firefight, a murder, witnessing an execution, then endure sexual harassment, and then catch a glimpse of their dead-end future.

Dr. Jeff was one as well, but much more vile and venomous, a rarer breed than most. He had to be one of the worst she would ever encounter in her life.

Then there was the turian with the synthetic arm, the blond bitch who tried killing her and the insane Dr. Liebermann. Today was full of psychopaths and when Gia had first met them, she could not physically define them as such. They each possessed a chirality, one side appeared normal, friendly and sincere, while the other was dangerous, asinine, and virulent—at any moment, they could explode, undergo a chemical reaction so spontaneous and violent that anyone nearby would be incinerated. Gia was unaware of Dr. Jeff's fierce obsession for her.

That rodent bastard has been playing a four year game with her and she was not even aware of it. Had Gia in fact fallen under his spell?

The bell for lunch rang out as loud as a gunshot in the brittle morning of winter. She herself felt every bit as fragile as a leaf, snap frozen by winter's seductive whisper when the sun passes under the planet. To Gia's luck, her hand was yanking on the metal pistol grip of Mr. Burns' woodshop room.

To Gia's pleasant surprise, her teacher was in the back cutting stabilizing fins out of balsa wood for a rocket.

_Act normal—nothing happened, remember? _

"So Mr. Burns, you need to break out the old motorcycle and go riding with me someday." Gia's hand gently glided over the frame of her teacher's old racing bike.

"_Gah, _damn it!" he exclaimed, waving his hand and sucking on his arthritic finger.

"I'm sorry, did I scare you?" she asked.

"It's good you wear bright colors. I can see you coming at least. If you dressed in all black, you'd make a great assassin."

Gia flinched at the word.

Nervously, Gia picked at some electrical tape on the racing bike.

"So, you wanted to see me?" she asked again.

"Are you coming to rocket club after school? Our team could use its captain."

Gia laughed and bashfully looked to her feet, chewing on her lower lip.

"Yeah, I'll try to make it," she lied. Then again, it might make for a solid addition to her alibi. She had not forgotten she was likely being hunted by the police.

Where in the hell were they, though?

Where was Detective Landford?

Why had he called her?

Why had the cameras not picked up on her in the spaceport garage?

"You say you 'suck at leading people' but everyone looks up to you, Gia. You are an engineering and mathematical genius—why you are not pursuing a career in it is—" Mr. Burns saw the fire in Gia's eyes. "Understandable," he lied.

Her mother had been pushing Gia towards aerospace engineering and she had even been asked by the most prodigious universities in the galaxy to attend their school. It was a rare chance to educate a quarian outside of the Migrant Fleet. They are apt at mathematics, electronics, and engineering—so far beyond any other race that Gia had been offered full scholarships by at least four schools. Her college could be paid for and she could earn six digit salaries, not including bonuses and stock. Gia could be a superstar in that particular realm, but she had told them all, including her mother, to "screw off."

Being a cook was ruthless, backbreaking work—the stoves and hot tops sucked the life from people as does the low pay, but it was damn rewarding to see customers place a forkful of food in their mouths and smile. The accolade of that alone was worth a life in the kitchen. Food was her passion and oddly enough, she had never tasted anything she had cooked in the past. This profession could kill her, literally.

She had read books written by loud mouthed chefs where the opening chapter goes something along the lines of this: "People come up to me all the time in the streets and ask, 'Chef, should I go to culinary school?' My answer is, 'Hell no.' You get paid next to nothing and it is the closest thing to slavery."

Gia was born a slave to her immune system, her parents, and her physical limitations.

Either way, Gia had the sneaking suspicion that she was not going to make it past tomorrow's sunrise, but she was rather calm about it. It was denial that something like this could never happen to a person like her—life had treated her poorly and nothing, she told herself, could get any worse… except for today, of course.

_Good job Gia, you jinxed yourself._

"Gia, are you okay?"

"Oh yeah. It's just… school is getting out soon and I am starting my own life. I'm exhausted from the restaurant and life in general," she said back to Mr. Burns.

Her teacher stuffed his bent fingers into the denim pockets of his tight jeans. Gia eyed his scars and bulging blood vessels that his body, an organic topographic cartographer, had mapped onto his hands.

"How's the bike?" he asked.

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Burns, but was there anything specific you wanted to ask me about?" she asked impatiently.

"No, I just wanted to talk to you."

His eyes slimmed, befuddled by the question and her agitation. She held an air of nervousness, and reasserted it with her fingers tapping against the worktable, glowing white eyes darting right to left. He knew something was up, but dared not ask her about it, or he would expect a door slammed in his face, maybe a fist.

"Well the bike is doing fine. I started to weld a strait pipe back home for it. Fourteen thousand RPM should be heard by everyone, and it is fun to scare the shit out of people as I pass them with the needle redlining," said Gia, eager to talk about her baby.

"What about the other engine?"

"That is on the kitchen table at home. I ruined my mom's tablecloth with it," she laughed. "Not a pretty sight when she found a quart of oil running onto the floor."

"I meant to ask, how is your mom doing?" he questioned. "I m-mean I haven't seen her in a while. She is still working as a mechanic in that shop down First and Fourteen, right?"

Gia sighed, thinking about Mom. "Yeah, she still works there."

"Leo, is he still there?"

"The midget, oh yeah," she whistled. "He's hilarious."

"Yeah," he said, staring into the wall behind Gia's head. "He was a former student of mine."

"No way."

"Yes way. By the _way_, I wanted to tell you I bought a small cruiser the other day from a shipyard. Something was wrong with the heat sinks and it was a fraction of the price it usually was. It's an old human beater, but oh do I love her."

"You bought a ship?" she yelled, incredulous, leaning on the wooden workbench.

"Yeah and the funny part is, I know what is wrong with it. They thought it was done for but luckily, the junkyard owner knew next to nothing about this ship's class. One of the heat sink's wires had been disconnected and the ship being old, the troubleshooting software on it is totally useless. I knew what was wrong, but suggested it was a good project ship and bought it. It will be up and running this weekend."

"That is awesome, Mr. Burns. Totally sick—I've got to come see it."

For a moment, Gia was not acting stupid, was not solidifying her alibi, but had momentarily forgotten that within 21 hours, she was going to be dead. The gunshots still resonated in her ears from earlier this morning and the Devil on her right shoulder was sitting, swaying his legs in disappointment, understanding his time with his host was soon to be up.

"Yeah, well you have my number. Call me this weekend and bring your mom—I'd love to see her sometime. It has been a while since our last dinner party."

"Yeah, well listen, I've got to run to lunch, Mr. Burns."

"I'll see you after school, right? You have a team to lead. Also, you aced the exam."

Gia waved her hand and left through the back door of his woodshop towards the lunchroom. She hated this goddamned place. The rows of lockers and riveted number plates on the vented steel boxes always intimidated her as a kid when special events from middle school and elementary school took place in the high school. Back then, the high schoolers looked like grownups, while she was just a puny alien stuck in a suit with a squeaky voice and messed up hands and feet. Gia had nightmares of coming to school and forgetting her locker combination, homework, and projects. This school was ridden with horrible memories. Gia looked down the taupe hallway and the lockers coated in a sloppy pale green, past the water fountain to where a door lead out into a courtyard looking into the cafeteria. In that courtyard, during lunch in her freshmen year, some racist seniors who lost family members in the First Contact War picked a fight with her. That was one of the few fights she lost, since there were five boys that snuck up on her.

After being humbled and picked on for a solid month, she took her self-defense classes more seriously and exacted her revenge in the boy's locker room after the school's rugby competition was over.

Gia cracked a smile, thinking about kicking their asses in that locker room. In fact, all of her good memories contained within the walls of school were about revenge.

The chorus of students broke into a full on orchestra, complete with the sounds of a running kitchen, soda cans being popped opened, forks clanking against plastic trays of food, and footsteps kissing the white tiled floor blasted Gia in the face.

The first day of lunch was always made painful by the fact that she had no friends. She always actively searched out the friendly face of Norry, her only good, true friend. Luckily, the last semester was good to her and Norry was in this block.

Gia slouched in her flat circular orange seat in the lunch room and threw her backpack on the table, cuddling with it, her face pushed into the fabric—her visor clacking against the beefy zippers. This school was the wealthiest and nicest on the planet and they could not afford comfortable seats. Either from working her ass off in the kitchen or because of these horrendously shitty chairs, her back was screaming at her constantly. Gia squirmed, trying to get comfortable and closed her eyes, taking advantage of this momentary sanctuary. With Dr. Jeff, the assassins, the alleged dreams, and her life all wanting to shove her into a punji pit, she needed to just rest her eyes for a brief moment.

"Remember, Gia. What did you see last night?" she whispered to herself, secluded at the end of the twenty seat table that Gia shared with a loud group of freshmen. She peeked out from behind her skinny arms and noticed the two boys that she saw in the hallway staring at her.

"I'll get your soft drinks in a minute."

"It's alright, Gia," they said in unison.

A smile selfishly pushed its way on her lips when she heard her name.

Gia tapped her omni-tool open with a moment of enlightenment.

What if the batshit insane doctor was right?

What if she really was this… _prophet _with the ability to save the galaxy from some sort of immanent doom? Sure, he was crazy. Shit, _she _was crazy for entertaining the mere idea that she was some sort of goddess that could fight an evil tame, but what the hell.

_Let's just entertain the idea._

Gia clamped both eyes and rested her chin on her backpack. She could feel the hardened shell of the pistol jabbing her in the chin. She kind of hoped the weapon would discharge, though she was certain she flicked the safety on before dropping it into her pack at the spaceport. She knew her way around a weapon with the fluidity and confidence of any soldier she had met at the 21 Hour Diner.

"Okay, think Gia."

She brought out a notepad application and with her right hand, she began typing notes.

_A blue lake. Is this the street those men died on near King's Bank?_

_The basket with three eggs in it. What does that even mean?_

_Humpty Dumpty. Look up the lullaby on the extranet to try and decipher it._

_The two egg yolks. What in the hell does that even mean? Am I to cook an omelet for these assassins?_

_The sunrise. Does the color and heat have significance? Look up sunrise reactions and/or symbolism._

_Numbers. Four sets of numbers. I need to document them—keep a notepad or something on my bedside table when I go to sleep tonight. Or if I die beforehand, then I don't even know._

_Dreamcatchers. What is that/who are they?_

_Does my sonofabitch dad know anything?_

Something massive moved towards Gia from the cashier line and Gia closed her notepad intending to return to it later. Gia turned her backpack over after finding a very fine spray of blood pocked onto the fabric. Norry, her only friend, waddled towards Gia with a smile over her face, her chubby hands passionately clasping onto her tray of food. Norry sat down, the whole table shifting under her weight and popping the freshmen on the other side of the table into the air, spilling their cartons of chocolate milk.

The group laughed, except for the two boys Gia met earlier in the hallway. Gia could hear them telling their friends to shut up, persisting that they were cool. Two tables behind Gia and Norry was The Island from Hell—otherwise known as the table with Laura sitting at it. Her group felt Norry sit down and all howled, one of the boys whistling a cat call. If one kid took more shit in school than Gia, it was Norry, the only obese person in the entire class of students.

Poor girl.

"Assholes," said Gia, throwing a thumb over her shoulder at the Island of the Damned.

"Nah, don't worry about it, Gia. I'm outta here after this semester and will never see them again," she exclaimed happily, cracking open a soda and pulling her orange hair into a ponytail, revealing her freckled face. Gia always thought freckles looked like a shotgun spread on a paper target embroidered with a human silhouette. The amount of flack she had received for her weight in this posh high school would have driven an average person to hang themselves on their ceiling fan after a cold shower and a deep cut across the wrist. Gia humbly admired her.

"What did you get today?" asked Gia.

"A pepperoni panini."

"It looks gross," said Gia.

"That's because it _is _gross."

Norry took a massive bite out of it and red oil pinched the corners of her friend's mouth. She licked her lips and took a long swig of soda.

"I can make a better panini than that—it looks like two used tampons sandwiched between pancaked dog food," said Gia.

Norry gave the sandwich a look of disgust, cocked her head, and finished the first half, licking the tips of her fingers.

"Why don't you come running with me someday?" asked Gia, then remembered the next time she would be running was going to be from a bullet.

With Norry's mouth full, she asked, "_What_?"

"I mean, it makes you feel good. After a long run, you feel better about yourself. What do you think, Norry?"

"I would rather be strung up by my earlobes and slowly dropped into a giant garbage disposal while naked, in front of the entire school."

"Goddamn."

Norry jabbed her crust at Gia, both blue eyes vindictively trying to cool Gia's fiery ones.

"Is this about my weight?"

"No, this is about your friend being concerned."

"I don't want to run."

"Why?" Gia asked, desperately trying to convey a message. Maybe once Gia was dead, then Norry would think back on this day and start running. If she stayed like this, she wasn't going to make it past sixty.

"I'm just a fatty and no one cares about me."

"I care about you."

"_Uh-hu_," muttered Norry, demolishing her sandwich, marinara sauce dripping onto her black t-shirt hosting Norry's favorite band, a group featuring a quarian as the lead singer. Gia was out of touch with pop-culture, but apparently they were hot shit. Blue Light she thought they were called. Hell, she might as well give them a listen before she goes out with a bang.

"You're my friend," said Gia, punching her shoulder, Gia's fist sinking into Norry's arm.

Gia noticed some of the jocks snickering at them from the other table, Laura included.

"You see? You are not invisible, Norry," said Gia in a poor attempt to cheer Norry up.

"I rather I _was_ around them."

Gia's fists curled up and she felt her cheeks flaring red.

"Why is that?" asked Gia, concerned.

"Are you kidding me?"

Gia's eyebrow raised, curious as to what her friend was hinting at.

"Did they do something to you?"

"They said things to me, but nothing too bad. Just the stereotypical 'fatty' and moon/gravity jokes I normally get."

Norry finished her soda and crushed the can.

"Who said this to you?"

Norry, with her fleshy fist clenched around a chocolate milk carton she magically whipped out of nowhere pointed at a tall girl with blond hair and a fake tan, better known to Gia as Laura, Queen of the Damned, and recently acquired the eloquently put title of _whore_.

"That girl made fun of me in the locker room the other day. Man, I hate Laura. She said something about my fat and how I 'needed a bra on my back' or something like that." Norry took a swig out of her milk carton and rolled her eyes. "_Whatever_."

Gia locked eyes with Laura and tensed up as she blew Gia a kiss with a wicked grin. Norry noticed Gia's face and body language, then slowly turned around and made eye contact with Laura.

"Oh shit, Gia, don't do anything stupid now," Norry harshly whispered to Gia, grabbing her thin wrist.

"_No one_ makes fun of my friends."

Gia took her backpack off and dropped it to the floor while standing up. It had suddenly hit her—Dr. Jeff had told Laura about what Gia did four years ago to her parents. All Gia could see was red. She could feel the Devil's trident thrusting into her neck, giving Gia motivation to take her lights out.

Fuck it—she was dead either way, her future will be crushed by the police, assassins, Dr. Jeff, and by this supposed galactic turmoil caused by Dreamcatchers. She might as well get this chore done with. It was on her bucket list, anyways.

"Gia, seriously, sit back down," Norry hissed, spilling a dribble of chocolate milk, it settling next to the marinara stain on her Blue Light shirt.

"Let me just say a few words to her."

"I don't think you are going to use words," hissed Norry, grabbing Gia by the belt.

"I promise."

"I don't believe you."

"Fine."

"This would be better if no words were exchanged at all," Norry whispered and tugged at Gia's bright orange shawl. Gia walked around their table and towards the one full of jocks. Laura had gotten off far too long.

"Hey, Laura?" asked Gia kindly.

"Gia, yes?" said Laura who looked to her friends and giggled as if Gia was a bit of a joke. Through her smoked veil, Gia eyed Laura's drafting textbook—Mr. Burns was a couple centuries behind when it came to school material and assigned actual textbooks.

"We had homework on chapter nine, right?"

"_Uhhh_, yeah."

"Do you mind if I borrow that really fast? There is an annoying fly bothering my friend Norry over there and I need to shut it up."

"Don't you have a textbook that can crush—"

Gia didn't allow Laura to finish her sentence, but grabbed the hard backed book and slammed it into Laura's annoying, bitchy face. She hit the table hard, reeled backwards with a groan and fell to the ground, her nose now contorted and ugly—it matched her unique personality.

"Thanks, Laura. I think that stopped it—I saw it land on your face."

Gia wiped Laura's nasal blood off her fingers onto Laura's back before a pneumatic hand chomped down on Gia's raised fist.

She spun around, charged her target, and got a face full of blue uniform. Running into Officer Grant's thick chest was like driving right into a hardwood tree and she could feel his taser poking her in the stomach.

"Come, now," he said, his face emotionless and stoic.

Laura stood up with the help of her friends and wiped her nose.

"Murderer," she sputtered.

Gia breathed ravenously, a riptide of distilled rage almost carrying her away. The phrase "_sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me_" never resonated so much bullshit. Mere words—utterance of a rumor had pushed Gia over the edge.

Gia couldn't tell if she had heard her correctly or not. The Devil on her shoulder ushered Gia to strike that tainted creature until it no longer drew breath.

Instead, Gia found herself sitting back outside Dr. Jeff's office and in the embrace of her so hated chair.

"Gia, you mother should be here any minute," said Mrs. Jona, the bulbous and deformed guidance counselor receptionist.

"Great," she whispered, leaning back into the chair's cushions. She blew air from between her pursed lips and tasted blood from her earlier encounter with the other two potential rapists. They could have just been acting like asshole patriots to Gia and were just thugs. None the less, they touched her. They deserved to die.

Gia swore she could see the inside of her mask fogging up due to the fire ripping inside her.

The door to the waiting room opened and the familiar figure of her mother, Nashira Toshiko, stood in wait like the Grim Reaper. Gia would have preferred to see Detective Landford flanked by a squad of Special Response agents at gunpoint than her mom.

"Gia," said Mom. She was unable to distinguish whether the emotion in her mother's voice was from disappointment or concern for Gia's health.

"Hey," she waved. "Do you remember that girl I told you about? The bully? Well…" Gia held up her hand which was sprayed with blood.

"Bully. Is that right?" questioned Nashira, fists tucked into the curve of her waist. "The only bully I see is the one sitting in that chair."

Gia looked over her Mom. Her once white trimmed clothes were tan with age and motor oil spilled into the ocean of blue cloth. Nashira's shoulders rocked from her heavy breathing as she seethed with disappointment.

"Dr. Jeff should be expecting you, Gia and Mrs. Toshiko," said Mrs. Jona, sinking in her chair, feeling the tension in the air that not even she dared to tug on for fear of it snapping and recoiling into her own fat face.

Sighing, Gia said, "Let's get this over with."

Mom grabbed Gia's wrist and dragged her into Dr. Jeff's room. Her grip was fierce.

"Gia, I was expecting you to show… what is this?" asked Dr. Jeff as Nashira breached the pedophile bastard's office.

"I was contacted by the police at work ten minutes ago, Neil," Mom addressed Dr. Jeff. "My daughter—your patient, got into a fight with Laura."

"What?" he asked, sitting up in his chair.

"Yeah," said Gia, momentarily proud, "I broke her pretty little nose. Her face should be a livid void for the next couple weeks. A drafting textbook will do that moving at a high enough velocity."

"Listen, Neil," started Mom, "Gia's therapy, from my observations—and let me tell you, they are not very astute, rather I am stating the obvious—have not been helping."

"Hey, talk to me like I am in the goddamn room!" shouted Gia, yanking her arm away from her mother's vice grip. "My hand's numb."

"Gia, you hit another student?" asked Dr. Jeff.

"Your favorite one."

"Why did you do that? Please, both of you, sit. Let's talk through this." His face was smiling, bright red, and more shiny than normal.

Gia could see him sweating because Nashira brought a whole new level of heat into the room.

"I'd rather stand," said both Gia and her mom at the same time.

"Is my daughter resisting your sessions? Before she started working with you, she acted like anyone in her situation would. Once she started coming to you, she just progressively got worse." Nashira's tone was so toxic she could peel paint from the walls. By the look of Dr. Jeff's face, he was slowly being asphyxiated by Mom.

Dr. Jeff just stared at Nashira's blue ball of light over her mouth.

"What did you tell her, Gia?" questioned the Doc, his face draining of color.

"What is he talking about, Gia?"

"Mom, I… I am not sure."

"Stop lying," snapped Mom.

_You know what? Fuck it._

"Dr. Jeff?" asked Gia who walked over to her torturer, who was now staring down his executioner. "I am not afraid of you."

"Gia, what are you talking about," he asked with a nervous laugh.

Dr. Jeff's back was against the window and Gia could see rings of sweat under his armpits.

"Mom, he touched me today."

The room was silent and Gia brought up a screen capture of Dr. Jeff grabbing Gia's inner thigh and linked it to her suit.

"Tell me, Mom, that is a bad touch, yes?"

Nashira, Gia's mom, stood silent, arms unfolding from their crossed position when she took what seemed one leap across the room and grabbed Dr. Jeff by the neck, pushing him against the window.

"I'll burn you at the steak you sick animal," hissed Gia's mom. "I have been trying to protect my daughter since we moved to Bekenstein and instead of helping her I unknowingly threw her to the wolves."

Gia stepped back in shock.

"I've made it my mission to protect her from _monsters_ like you."

Mom let go of him and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, both eyes bulging from his skull.

"I'm… suspending her from this school for the rest of the year," stuttered Dr. Jeff. "You will receive zeros in all your classes from this point on."

"I have top scores in all my classes, Doc. Human school is too easy for me and any number of zeros won't affect my grades."

"Neil," said Nashira, "You better lawyer up. We're coming for you."

Nashira pushed her daughter out of his office and slammed the door as hard as she could. Gia swore she heard the oak door splinter, but she did not turn around to see.

"Mom…"

"Not now," said Nashira as she pulled her daughter through the hallways and out to the parking lot. The sun burned deep shadows onto the pavement.

"Mom!"

"What?" Mom screamed back.

"Thanks."

"No matter how much you tick me off at times, I love you, darling. I have your back anytime, anywhere, no matter the situation."

"Yeah, I know."

"Did you get her good?"

"What," asked Gia, perplexed, putting a hand on her forehead, shading her view of her mom.

"Laura, is that her name? The girl that has been bugging you since freshmen year, did you get her back?"

Gia threw her head back, laughing and relieved that one sticky situation was over with.

Gia gnawed on her tongue and said, "Yeah, I got her good."

Mom stood silently for a moment and said, "You know how much I am against revenge, but after what you told me about her… that _bitch _got what she deserved." Nashira shook her arms as if trying to dust herself off. "_Oh_, that felt good."

"You're telling me!"

"Listen, I have got to get back to work, but we have a lot to talk about later." Mom walked towards the fountain in the courtyard and Gia kicked a rock playfully, thinking. "Gia, honey?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"You're spending the weekend at your father's place."

"Yeah, I know," she sighed.

"He'll be happy to see you."

"I know," she admitted.

"I love you, Gia. Stay out of trouble. I might stop by later tonight. I have not seen him in a couple months."

"Trouble… yeah."

Gia watched her mom walk away and disappear behind the fountain and head towards the guest parking lot. She had the feeling that this was the last time she was going to see her. She wanted to call out and say something meaningful, maybe say _goodbye_ or _I love you, too._ Instead, Gia turned to Dr. Jeff's office window and gave him two middle fingers, knowing he was watching. For some reason, she had the sneaking suspicion that she had just kicked the hornets' nest, and had just poured gasoline over it and herself. Now, all she needed was a match.


	7. Chapter Six - Velocity

**The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter Six - Velocity**

Walter Spinnaker addressed himself in the mirror of the changing room. Honeyed light crested his broad shoulders as he admired his naked body displayed in the full length mirror. He was proud of what he had created in Hubris—was elated at how developed his mind was and how his time in prison had honed the old Walter into a sharpened tool that was about to savagely lodge itself into the beating heart of the galaxy.

Walter felt it was fitting to become a civilized human being before beginning his hunt—before becoming a wild animal once again. Spending a copious amount of time in prison had almost permanently bent his self image dangerously close to that of a caged animal.

He was not an animal, but a human being.

It had been two years since he has seen himself. He had caught glimpses of his face in the polished blade of a surgical scalpel when under the knife in a session, but other than that, there was no mirror to consult himself in. His owner tried oh so hard to snap him in half.

He breathed in and out, admiring the muscles he had hardened in the prison. His body was unrelenting, as was his soul, coupled an unbreakable, rocksteady mind.

A knock at the changing room door governed his drifting thoughts back on course.

"Mr. Spinnaker, your suit is here," said his tailor, who ran the most decorated boutique on the Citadel,_ Zoya and Sons_. They were _the _top designers on the Citadel, beating out even the asari boutiques. Their suits were impeccable and superior in every way. Through the build quality and materials they used, Walter could feel the passion they poured through the tips of needles by the way the suit felt and fit.

The changing room was paneled in imported African rosewood, polished to a deep burgundy with streams of fine black grain trickling through the old wood. The floor was obsidian, rock forged in a volcano. It had been born from a crucible of heat that once lived deep inside of a planet; Walter admired its resilience to breach the crust of a planet, just to catch a breath of fresh air, only to be turned into stone forever. Walter pressed his hand on the wooden wall and reached for his suit that had appeared through a mouth in the door, wrapped in plastic. He could feel the history of the wood—feel its emotions. It had survived hundreds of years in the Congo back on Earth, had watched slaves be taken from their homes by early Europeans, only to have its life taken by five men with a gasoline powered chainsaw with only profit in mind.

_Millettia laurentii _was its binomial nomenclature. He had read about these trees in a book he found on the shelf on Hubris. It taunted him with long life spans and pictures of nature—the outside. Walter could feel the tree had its revenge when it was cut down. He closed his eyes and flinched as pain split through his ribs. This tree had killed one of the illegal poachers as they cut it down—its mighty trunk had slipped and snapped, popping out of place and impaling one of the men with chainsaws. Walter felt no sadness. This tree bore life and held it in its branches before being cut down. That man deserved to die.

"Thank you, Zoya. I will tell you what I think when I try it on. I am sure it will be a work of art," said Walter through the slit in the wall.

Walter applied silk boxers first, tugging at the waistband and snapping them in place, then ran his thumbs on the inside of the band, making sure they fell into place between his muscles.

Utter _perfection_.

Walter smiled and unpacked the trousers from the plastic sleeve. They were anthracitic gray, made with imported Australian super 220 Merino wool with silk linings on the inside hosting a thirty-four waist and a subtle flare at the trouser break. The zipper for the fly was magnesium, as was the button.

Walter could not stress enough the fine craftsmanship of this suit.

Walter slipped on his silk undershirt, and buttoned up his white long sleeved shirt with the precision of a tortoise eating grapes off a vine. The light pink tie fit snugly around his thick neck. He was enthralled by his mirror image whilst tying the perfect knot for his silk tie. The ghosted pink stripes that ran vertically down the tie was a sublime idea.

Last, but certainly not least, was the matching jacket that matched his trousers. Silk lined the inside and had two pockets, one over each breast. This was no mere suit at over four thousand credits a square meter in material costs alone. Silver lines raced vertically down the suit, three centimeters away from each other. The shoulder pads drifted over his frame, tapering to a point much like a samurai's armor in Bushido paintings. He never liked the appearance of breast pockets—he thought they interfered with the streamlined appearance of a well tailored suit and a hardened body. He filled the two button loops with their partners at his waist and smiled innocently at how the suit hugged his waist and flared around his shoulders and hip. Zoya, the tailor, did a fabulous job—it was a work of art, truly.

Walter fit his ray skin shoes over his black socks and once finished, paused again to admire his reflection.

He was by no means a normal person. Walter was anything but that, but these clothes allowed him to walk within crowds of average people and not draw attention to himself.

After his escape from Hubris, he had a renewed sense of destiny—he knew what had to be done and that this could not have been accomplished by divine intervention. A higher power was steering his chariot right into the thick of the fight. They needed a surrogate to accomplish their task.

Walter nodded to himself in the mirror, satisfied with his purchase, and stepped out of the dressing room.

There has always been one man throughout history that changes the course of events for a civilization. Walter admired Mohamed Atta, one of the hijackers who charged an aircraft into the World Trade Center, pushing the United States of America into chaos back in the early 21st century. He was a historical figure who was never forgotten and had claimed the title of "scum" and "monster." He was anything but. With some planning, an exchange of heated words, and a couple of box cutters, he and his accomplices had taken down the most powerful nation in the world at the time. Walter Spinnaker was very much like Mr. Atta—he was a single man pitted against many with an isolated mission in mind: chaos.

"Mr. Zoya, your suit is exquisite," said Walter, nodding his head towards his tailor. "It fits like a long lost glove that has seen many cold winters with its owner."

"I'm glad you like the suit, Mr. Spinnaker."

One of the most well known and rich men in the galaxy stood at five and a half feet. Walter towered over this respected man, yet Spinnaker felt they were on the same level. Both were very successful at what they do and are respected. Walter enjoys a professional tailor who knows his art intimately.

"Put the charge on my credit chit—you should still have my name in the system from previous transactions," said Walter, smelling several colognes. "Add this, will you, Mr. Zoya?" Walter held up a five-hundred credit bottle of cologne to the tanned, silver haired man.

"Of course, Mr. Spinnaker," he replied in a gravelly voice.

People walked by the door of _Zoya and Sons_, the headquarters being in the most luxurious and expensive shopping building on the Citadel. Many of the people were window shoppers—tourists from other planets checking out the astronomical prices and visiting the renowned building pictured on the vids.

"Is ten-thousand and nine-hundred credits okay then, Mr. Spinnaker?" asked the owner of the shop.

"Yes," said Walter, unflinching, transfixed by the crowd of people looking in through the glass.

Walter dabbed the cologne on his neck and slipped the bottle into his jacket pocket.

"Would you like your old clothes bagged so you can take them home?" asked Mr. Zoya.

"Burn them."

Walter shook Mr. Zoya's hand and walked out of the store, into the crowd of people, and melted away. He had an appointment that could not be missed and worked his way towards his destination at the top of this building. Reservations had been made—reservations that take nearly a year to book.

Walter clutched his copy of Thomas Paine's _Common Sense. _It would have been an idiotic idea to leave the single most influential strophe of his life untouched—completely disregard the memories, the pain, and the hardships in order to restart his new life.

No.

He must carry those feelings of hate and burning pain with him in order to complete his ultimate mission. They were the very instruments that machined him into his ultimate form. He was at the pinnacle of evolution.

This single book had changed his life and set what he saw around him into new motion. It gave his life velocity and a sense of direction—the renewed desire to take life. It proved to him that people like Thomas Paine must be stopped.

Walter lightly touched the people around him as they passed. His long fingers gingerly brushed against clothing, open hands, and purses. The tactile memories of women's clothing forced him to close his eyes, almost pushed him to his knees out of unadulterated sorrow and anguish. Memories of his wife rushed him, knocking him nearly unbalanced amongst the crowds of people.

He missed her so much.

He missed the smell of her select perfumes.

He missed the way she grabbed his hands during frightful movies.

He missed the children she bore—his two little daughters.

They were torn from his life when a black bag was tugged over his head, followed by a blunt object colliding into his skull right after brushing his teeth in a hotel on an operation. Not much was known as to why he was arrested, but Walter expected he had an insurance policy on his head, even when he was insurance for the Dreamcatchers. No matter how high up the predatory ladder you get, there is always something higher.

Soon, he was going to be reunited with his beautiful family.

After quite a pleasant walk through the Citadel, he ended up at his destination.

It was a restaurant called _One _on the top floor of the tallest structure on the Zakera Citadel Wards.

From what Walter had heard, this place is the best on the entire Citadel, and that has a lot going for it; the Citadel was considered the greatest place to eat in the galaxy.

In a matter of hours, Walter had gone from scum of the universe to top dog. It was a leap no one had ever made before. Behind bars one hour and into a nine-thousand credit suit the next. After being treated like a laboratory specimen—tested for tolerances of pain and psychological strength, Walter just wanted to appear like a normal human and blend in with the rest. The silk was cool against his skin, unlike the thick fabric of the prison garb he wore hours ago.

This privilege would not be wasted.

As Walter entered the restaurant, he was greeted by a younger, very well dressed man standing behind a wooden podium, clasping onto a text-pad. Politely, Walter smiled and nodded as he approached.

"Do you have reservations, sir?" asked the host.

Walter could tell the owner of this fine establishment only hired well kept employees. An off-putting person as a host or hostess would surely give a poor first impression. A beautiful woman, or in this case, a handsome man, was key.

"I do have a reservation," started Walter, chuckling, "But forgive me, for this might sound a bit off, I do not know what name it is under."

"Oh, well that is not a problem, sir," said the well spoken host.

"It could be under 'Spinnaker,' but I might be mistaken."

"Let me see here..."

Walter crossed his hands over his lap, scanning the faintly lit room, hoping to catch a familiar face.

"I am sorry, sir, but you are not on the reservation list. Were you expecting someone?" asked the man.

Walter glanced at the host's name tag.

"_Jack_, I am so sorry for the confusion, but yes, I am meeting someone here," said Walter.

"Andrea Strong. He is with me," said a female voice from behind. Walter reeled around, meeting the politician face-to-face.

"Now 'Strong' is on the list of reservations," Jack smiled professionally. "If you will, please follow me."

Walter has always had the love for food. His mother was in the restaurant business when his father passed away. With no father in his childhood, he grew up with this three older sisters who worked as waitresses while little Water worked as a dishwasher, then moved up to line-cook. Cooking in a Parisian restaurant was tough work. He was born in the kitchen, around food, and wished to one day own the family restaurant until he joined the police force back on Earth. Paris, France was a wonderful city to grow up in as a child and as a food lover. Even though the majority of the world began speaking the uniformed language of English, the Parisians, being particularly stubborn, still boasted the French language. Walter spoke French fluently, though rarely used it. Many people say he still hosts the French accent when in conversations.

Once a Parisian, always a Parisian.

"Your waitress will be with you shortly, Ms. Strong and Mr. Spinnaker," said Jack as he pulled their seats away from the white clothed tables. Walter thanked Jack and eyed Andrea Strong. He has seen her in his dreams, but as he slept, she was cloaked in black shawls, armed with a scythe. The back of Walter's head burned momentarily, but subsided as quickly as it started.

"You are late," stated Ms. Strong bluntly.

"Oh?" Perplexed, Walter shot a glance at his new watch, of which he purchased at Zoya's place. "I am twenty minutes early, I might add."

Ms. Strong ignored him. "Is something wrong?" she asked, noticing him flinch seconds ago.

Walter laughed and scratched the back of his head. "Oh, it is nothing. This is a fantastic place. I've read about it before and have seen it on the vids, but never have I been here."

They had the best view on the Citadel, only second to the Presidium tower. Directly behind Ms. Strong's head was a panoramic window to the revolving restaurant, entertaining the customers with the enthralling vista of the city. The building itself was closer to the Presidium, so Walter was lucky enough to have the Wards stretched out before him in all their glory. The city was at full charge, electricity and splendor coursing through its synthetic neural system. The city held a life of its own, Walter thought.

From here, he could see his home a couple kilometers out.

Behind the blue glass was his wife, chasing the children down to do their homework.

God, they must be big now.

He missed two years of their lives. They will be happy to see their father again.

The ceiling of _One_ was painted black with fiber-optic lights dotting the ceiling, trying its hardest to mimic the night sky of a human world. It looked like cream spilled across black fabric. The walls were painted a deep rusty-orange, which contrasted perfectly against the white table clothes and black furniture.

Walter would have enjoyed meeting the interior designer and shaking his or her hand. They did a tasteful job. Maybe they could redo _his_ interior when he returned home.

Andrea and Walter sat quietly, talking to their waitress about the wine selection. Apparently, they pair the wine according to the dishes.

There was no menu, but two cards with a single word on both.

_Velocity_ and _Manipulation._

After eating Hubris' food for such a long time, a menu with velocity seemed to be fitting. Walter was a force _belting_ towards its terminal velocity. After a fine meal, he should be at his best.

Ms. Strong chose _manipulation_.

"I think you need to surrender yourself to food—let the flavors, smells, textures, and appearance take over you, manipulate you," said Ms. Strong when their waitress left.

"I agree. Fierce seduction and food pair well. The chef is in charge and he or she should capture you with their product and if the food is good enough, it should alter the taster's perspective on life, much like how oysters and chocolate release endorphins to the brain," said Walter, crossing his long fingers over his lap, back laser strait. "For me, I prefer my food to pack a punch, hold so much potential energy that when I bite into it, it releases all the kinetic energy onto my palette. I like that sense of rush and velocity."

"I take it you are a food person, since you were raised in a restaurant as a child," said Ms. Strong, leaning forward, her smile sharpening on each end. The red lipstick against her pale skin contrasted harshly, yet Walter felt it worked. Her hair, short, stretched its full length across the left side of her face like a raven's wing. Her appearance was strong and cold. It excited him.

"I see you have access to my files. That must mean you hold power within the government. Not many people know about my past."

Ms. Strong smiled, not saying a word.

"Your dress top, is that _Zoya and Sons_ by any chance?" asked Walter, nodding his head towards her black blouse

"You have a sharp eye."

"I adore quality and they are at the summit. I cannot pass up a Zoya outfit without commenting on it," said Walter.

Ms. Strong's grin chilled Walter to the bone and that cannot be said about many people. Walter admits that his outward appearance is welcoming and warm, but he had gotten the sense that Ms. Strong is cold on both the outside and inside.

"Did Mr. Arterius treat you kindly?" asked Ms. Strong.

"Yes he did. He is very professional and efficient. I humbly hold him in high esteem—that man is an effective Spectre agent. I can appreciate skills like that when I see them." Walter leaned in. "He did not frighten me. He is far too unstable, and with his past records showing history between Toby and Gia Heiko, he would be emotionally compromised and to add on to that, his skills in hunting down specific targets do not even come close to mine."

"I see we have cut the bullshit. I like digging right into the meat of things. Skave would have been my number one option for taking these people out since we share the same interests, but I want a human hunting down other humans. We know each other better and share millennia of killing ourselves."

Walter's eyes fluttered, offended and flabbergasted.

"If you would refrain from cursing around me, it would be much appreciated, Ms. Strong," said Walter, smiling politely.

Andrea, clearly taken aback, apologized.

"I did not know words could offend someone of your background."

"It is no problem. I have a gripe with curse words. I prefer eloquently structured sentences from politicians like you. Please, do not insult your own intelligence with foul words," he said, smiling.

Walter could not help but wink at her. In a blur, Ms. Strong plastered on a polite and well behaved face for the waitress who arrived with the first course. Both thanked their waitress and continued talking.

"I am glad to be working with a Special Protective Insurance for Dreamatchers agent like yourself. I have heard many things about the S.P.I. ." Ms. Strong paused to take a bite of her food, as did Walter. The first course was sea scallops seared in butter, sitting on top of a frozen cube of flavored olive oil, coupled with cauliflower froth.

"I love it when they don't overcook a perfect scallop. Sear it, twenty seconds on each side, serve rare in the middle. I am sorry, you were saying?"

"Oh, your files were impressive. I get the sense that you do equivalent work as Spectres, but just work for the human government," said Ms. Strong, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Assassinations and intelligence seem to be your specialties, Walter."

"Yes. Before working alongside the Dreamcathers and later with the S.P.I.D.R agency, as you very well know, I attended the N7 program, but never finished it due to an honorable discharge from friendly fire on a live exercise. That was a sore accident—a past life." Walter smiled and leaned back in his char. "I remember the person I accidentally shot ran right in my line of fire. It was a novice mistake and the odd part about it was he was the best candidate—the strongest, even the brightest make mistakes that can get them killed. I think that is the lesson that has stayed with me the longest." Walter took another bite. "Very unctuous."

"Why did the government take you in to be part of… well, what did they call their agents that does their dirty work? I looked into your files and found nothing on the subject. No name of the agency, no branch of the government that issued orders, not a single thing. You essentially dropped off the radar for a couple of years."

Walter swallowed and sighed, placing the knife and fork onto the plate, finished with the first course.

"Why, exactly, do you need to know about my past operations with the government, Ms. Strong?"

"You are my right hand man and I want to know who I will be operating with," said Ms. Strong, finishing her first course as well.

"The agency did not exist," said Walter, his tone flat.

"What can you tell me about it?"

They stopped talking as their waitress gathered their plates.

"You did get one part right. Yes, I was an assassin. The government grabbed me after my hiccup in the N7 training program. They saw untapped potential, since I was second in the class," said Walter. "I was breaking all kinds of records in the N7 program."

"What, exactly, did you do? I need to know this. You were the best S.P.I.D.R in the agency and I want to know what makes you such."

Walter's smile persisted. Ms. Strong stared at it while a sudden realization collided with her that this man was something very different. The smile and face was charming, handsome, and almost childish, yet totally sane when his lips danced the phrase: "I am a Spectre hunter."

Ms. Strong's face contorted with surprise and horror.

She leaned in and whispered, "You… assassinate Spectres?"

"I _did _back in the day. Surely you did not think the Spectres were at the top? There is always someone to keep the top in line, and that was me."

"Does the Council know about you?"

"I am a phantom—a mirage wavering above hot asphalt. They know I exist, yet when they reach out to catch me, I am gone, down the road a little further." Walter's innocent smile chilled even Andrea Strong. "I am impossible to catch. Now, from what I have seen in my dreams, I would like to flesh out some details before I plunge headfirst into taking out the remaining Dreamcatchers."

"Yes, very well." Suddenly, Ms. Strong's attitude had changed from arrogant to humble after filling in the blank spot on Walter's resume.

"I am not surprised that you have not heard about that little detail from my past. That was four years ago when I made my last kill. Please, do not feel blind or stupid. Only very few people know about that, Andrea."

Ms. Strong ignored him and began speaking: "You must take out Gia Heiko and her father, Toby Heiko."

"Can you please give me more information on them?" asked Walter from behind his wine goblet.

"Gia Heiko is a surprise to us. Not that I know absolutely everything about the Dreamcatchers, she has been a sleeper agent, quite literally."

"Gia Heiko is the quarian girl, yes?"

Ms. Strong responded, "You are correct."

"I have seen her many times in my dreams."

"The Dreamcatcher program in untouchable. I cannot gain intimate access to it. The only piece I have access to are the S.P.I.D.R agents that I have been using," said Ms. Strong, reciting everything from memory.

"Yes, the Dreamcatcher program is separate from the S.P.I. . We are there for insurance purposes only. The human government liked the idea of having prophets and quickly realized that they could use them for military advantages such as sabotage, reconnaissance, and deciphering plans of the enemy that were previously impossible to attain. It was later that they realized these Dreamcatchers were able to decode their _own_ government's plans and actions. Now, do not play stupid with me, but the human government is a dirty bunch, you included."

Walter pointed across the table at Ms. Strong.

Walter continued: "You are just as bad as the people you try to stop. This spooked the human government, so they created us, the Spiders, as we like to call ourselves, as a contingency, just in case anything went wrong and the Dreamcatchers caught onto one of your plans. If they saw anything that could harm the human government, then they send us in to kill everyone before they spout their knowledge and then _you _would have a big mess to clean up."

Ms. Strong was silent on the other side of the table. One of the Ward arms crossed the Widow, casting a cool shade through the three story tall restaurant. The lights above them became brighter, fighting off the darkness.

Walter disappeared in the casted shadow and Ms. Strong's silhouette remarkably resembled that of a black hooded character.

"Andrea, let me ask you one question." Before Andrea muttered _what _Walter cut her off. "How big did you mess up? In my dream, I saw a basket with three eggs, some numbers, something about _Humpty Dumpty, _a sunset, and two eggs, even a blue lake, or a street—it was not very clear. I am still trying to figure out what it all means. Is that the dream you are killing everyone over?"

"Yes. How about I explain everything over dessert."

"I would like that."

"Now, back to filling you in about your targets..."

"Yes, of course."

"Let's start with Gia Heiko. She is the daughter of both Nashira and Toby. Not much is known about her since Skave hunted them down and they disappeared ten years ago, except for earlier today, I got reports from Cerberus that—"

"Ms. Strong, you are working with Cerberus on this?" asked Walter, taken aback. "That is not a smart move—they are not to be trusted."

"No, I am not. I have contacts in Cerberus. You must understand, a good portion of the human government works for Cerberus, since they are a pro-human faction. These are just reports. Anyways, one of their assassins dropped off the map earlier today and there have been rumors circling about a quarian girl matching the description of Gia Heiko being spotted around the agent's last known position."

"How do you know what she looks like if you do not have much information about her?"

Ms. Strong sighed and said, "Based off what we knew about her ten years ago due to C-Sec reports, she matches the description."

Walter knew what she looked like. He had met her through his dreams.

"Why was Cerberus after Gia?"

"They weren't. They were after Harris Liebermann, the head of the Dreamcatchers and project co-leader."

"Dr. Liebermann, yes I know him, while we have never personally met," said Walter, scratching the back of his head. "I take it he was trying to warn Gia of her impending doom? Now tell me, what does Cerberus want out of this? If I had to take a guess, they also want to stop Gia and Toby from figuring out what you are planning because it will directly benefit them."

"Correct."

"Whatever you have started seems to be with the humans' best interest."

"I wouldn't state it that way," grimaced Ms. Strong.

"Whatever you are planning, I know I am the catalyst. I am more than happy to play the part."

"Glad to hear."

"Is there any way to tell Cerberus to back off and let me take care of this situation?" asked Walter, the Widow shining once more, the faux stars in the ceiling blinking off into cold cinders. "I am more than capable of handling the situation."

"I will give you unprecedented access to your targets."

"Good, now what can you tell me about Toby Heiko?"

"Toby Heiko is the main threat. This man joined the military when he was eighteen, fought at Shanxi when the Alliance noticed his capabilities and he became an N7 candidate in 2158, graduating a year after. He served until 2163 when his potential wife, Reana, was murdered by thugs on the Citadel bearing his future child. A year later, he meets Nashira'Leah vas Invulpina, a quarian who left the confines of the flotilla to live on the Citadel."

"Toby Heiko is an N7 operator?" asked Walter.

"Yes. In 2164, Toby joins C-Sec and then in 2169, he was the first human to join the Citadel Security Special Response, along with his lifelong friend, Brian Hilliard."

Walter was taken off guard at this mention of a name he was unfamiliar with. Why would she mention this individual?

"Who is Brian Hilliard?"

"Have you not been following the news?"

"The media is the opium of the people. It spreads fear, contorts ideals, and is the biggest terrorist. Forget batarian pirates, the media is what you must fear. So my answer is _no_, I do not follow the news and being out of a cell for the past half day, I have not even thought of the media, to be honest."

"Well, I had an operation that went a bit sour earlier this morning. I hired some gunmen to keep an eye on things, ten of them. One of the gunmen was Brian Hilliard. I had no idea who he was beforehand, until he killed a fellow S.P.I.D.R agent and escaped."

"Let us go over that again. Brian Hilliard is a friend of Toby Heiko, yes and he is capable of killing a Spider?"

"Correct," said Ms. Strong, sipping her wine.

"He just so happens to show up out of nowhere after ten years of what, becoming a ghost?"

"Brian Hilliard was part of that C-Sec hiccup ten years ago. He broke Toby Heiko out of prison and has essentially become a phantom here on the Citadel. C-Sec's villain number one had disappeared—poof. Now, here is the interesting part: Brian Hilliard left a crossword puzzle behind after he discovered he was compromised." Ms. Strong paused, waiting to hear Walter retaliate about some crossword puzzle, but he was perched on the edge of his chair, listening intently. Ms. Strong continued, "We got the location of Toby and Gia Heiko off of that piece of paper, along with prints of Brian's magic smoke machine: Pira T'Estoni. The Heikos are located on Bekenstein, in the capitol of Milgrom. It was coded into the puzzle by what our intelligence agency has discovered the C-Sec agent I mentioned before by the name of: Pira T'Estoni."

"So that is how Mr. Hilliard became a ghost after the C-Sec disaster ten years ago?"

"_Precisely._ My only S.P.I.D.R agent left has searched for him, but come up empty handed."

"Do you believe in fate, Ms. Strong?" asked Walter, his eyes glassing over.

"No I don't. I believe in cold, calculating numbers; statistics and chance."

Walter sighed and sipped some wine.

It was good. It cleansed his palette and paired well with his seafood. The chefs at _One_ knew what they were doing.

"You find this whole situation funny, don't you?" he persisted.

"Well yes, it's odd. The chances are slim that he showed up, us finding the location of the Heiko family, and you showing up to do the dirty work all within hours of each other. We've been planning this operation for over a year and all of a sudden everything falls into our lap," she said slowly, brows pinched, waiting for his punch line.

"Do you believe in God—guardian angels, Ms. Strong?"

She tried hard not to laugh at Walter. He would not have liked that.

Not one bit.

"No. No one really does anymore. Do you?" she asked, a natural smile crossing her lips for the first time.

"Yes."

Her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Her eyes wavered and drooped as if she had seen a ghost of her long dead grandparents standing right behind Walter. Suddenly, she was terrified.

"It is all made up _bullsh_—made up stories from people thousands of years ago. The people of today run off hard evidence and proof. The existence of God has nothing to back it up."

"What do you call _this _then?"

"Call what?"

"The chances of all this happening are so astronomically _slim_, it would be hard to find enough zeros to fit on the right side of the decimal. This must be divine intervention, the work of God."

"If… if you believe that, then by all means, continue."

Walter and Ms. Strong became a mute couple for several minutes. They did not speak, only eyed each other, probing deep into each other's understanding of everything around them. The next course was taking longer than expected. This was fine dining, so Walter guessed that was supposed to happen.

Finally, he smiled childishly and shattered the silence, his soft voice startling Ms. Strong. "Pira T'Estoni is an asari, isn't she?"

"Yes," responded Ms. Strong, her voice shaking.

"I am going to have to get to her. When I get to her, she will take me to Brian Hilliard since he has seen your face and knows, to a certain extent, your plan. Brian Hilliard will take me to the Heiko family's front door." He paused. "Andrea?" asked Walter, putting a hand on hers. She pulled it away. Walter was sad that he had hurt her feelings, upset her with the realization of the existence of God. Or maybe she was upset about something else. Both blue eyes drooped and a frown tackled his smile. "Andrea, do I have to kill Pira?"

She nodded.

"What about Brian Hilliard?"

She nodded yet again.

He sighed and leaned back into the cushion of the chair.

"Brian Hilliard killed a S.P.I.D.R agent and has put a wrinkle in your otherwise mirror-smooth plan. Who was it?"

"Funnel Web. He killed Funnel Web."

Walter has always been an emotional person, ever since he was a kid. His compassion towards other humans made him question his profession. He could feel his insides swell and sadness take over him, his nose began to subtly run.

"After dessert and after you clarify my dream, I will take them out. Andrea, look at me please."

His face was kneaded with compassion—it was soft and innocent.

"Do you want me to make it painful for Brian and Pira?"

She nodded, gaining composure.

Walter smiled and grabbed her hand yet again, trying to make her feel better, when he sighed, "I knew Funnel Web."

"He was a great agent."

"Andrea?"

"Yes?"

"For you, I won't use a gun on them."

"Good," said Ms. Strong, her face still struck with horror.

"It will hurt more this way, I promise."

**Zakera Ward, The Citadel**

Brian Hilliard waited at the same pizza stall as last night. His massive body enveloped the chair as he scraped at some dried blood with a napkin that still stained the pitting in Toby's old jacket. The ragged bullet hole on the shoulder was still there when Skave shot him in the stripper bar. It had proved most useful the past couple of hours. His life had just been upended, kicked, and had a knife lightly dragged across his neck, just enough to draw blood—just wet the blade, but it was enough to tantalize the sharks. He had the feeling that whatever was hunting him from the safety of the shadows was going to be coming back in a frontal assault, jabbing hysterically at anything it could dig into. The lunch rush of college students was much smaller than the dinner swarm, but nonetheless it was a crowd. Brian could disappear into it, as could assassins. He was being hunted; he knew it.

He could _feel _it.

Something was hurdling itself towards him with the velocity of a freight train loaded with miles of gasoline, black powder, oil drums, and lit kerosene lamps. Brian had a bag packed with essentials, ready to go in the blink of an eye. He didn't bother packing clothes since he had no clean ones at his other apartment, and the fact lingered right in front of him that he would not last the night. If the people who were tailing him sent another one of those goddamn freaks at him, it was going to be hard to kill it. The only reason he got the drop on the last one was the mere fact that Brian had the element of surprise and a drawn sidearm. The suited monster he faced in the bathroom was faster, stronger, and better than him in every way… and there was another out there. It was odd how they left a note for Brian on his bed. The other suited man could have been waiting for Brian as he walked into his home and whacked him right then and there. They had the perfect opportunity to kill him, but it was like these twisted fuckers were playing a game with him, Brian as a stupid little pawn. They were _toying _with him, Brian Hilliard, an N7 operative and former CSSR agent. He is in the top one percent in the galaxy for military might and these people are giving him a head start, warnings, tips on how to live, and a gun. He could not let this situation go sideways on him, which would be the end.

Game over.

_Done._

The college students traveled in packs, but Brian could make out Pira briskly walking towards him in her C-Sec blues with a _what in the hell _face cranked to max power.

Maybe it was his hair cut, but he had the sneaking suspicion that it was anything but that.

She sat down and asked, "Are we in trouble. Are you in danger? Am I in harm's way?"

"Yes, yes, and yes."

"Me? Oh shit."

"They broke into my other apartment and—"

"Wait, they _know_ about your other apartment?" shrieked Pira, her face contorting with fear. "I made damn sure _no one_ would find you there!"

"Well they walked in, searched the place, and left me a note. They know everything, Pira. Goddamn _everything._"

Brian heard his own voice shake, so did Pira. Brian could tell she had never been so fucking scared in her life. Her hands began quaking, as well as her upper lip.

"Okay," she began, releasing a breath and closing her eyes. "Let's start from the beginning."

Brian gave her a brief rundown of everything that had happened since the moment he stepped out of the train and met the suited freak. Pira was quiet, which was not normal for her. She was terrified. Brian put a paw on her shoulder and said it was all going to work out.

"They know who I am?" asked Pira.

"Yes, they do."

"But they never mentioned my name on that note, correct?"

Not making direct eye contact with her, Brian pulled it out of his pocket, sliding it towards Pira across the crumby and oily circled table.

Pira read it and re-read it. She saw her name.

"They are waiting for me at work," said Pira.

Brian's vision flashed white with shock.

"What?" he gasped.

"I saw one of the suited men you mentioned at work."

"Where did you see him."

"He passed me in the lobby. Shades, black suit and a bad ass look on his face."

"Oh Jesus Christ, Pira. Were you followed? Did you see him behind you on your way here?"

Brian reached behind him and clasped the rubber handle of his machine-pistol, surveying the open cafeteria.

_Nothing._

"We need to leave the Citadel. Now," said Brian fiercely.

"But… what about my job? What about my home? I have a life here, Brian."

Her voice trembled.

"That will all be taken from you if we don't get the hell out of here."

"Okay, okay, let me think. _Uhmm_… I had a ship planned for you to leave the Citadel once you finished your job. It leaves in," she paused to open her omni-to check the time. "It departs one day from now, but it comes and goes from here to Bekenstein every six hours. It's one of those P.O.S ships where they cram you in like cattle. They allow early hop-ins if seats are available. It is outta here in one hour, Citadel time. If we hurry our asses, we can hop on that transport and get the hell out of here. I want to grab a couple of things at my house first."

"That is not a smart idea, going by your house. If I were them, I'd be there waiting for you."

"I stood next to the guy who is trying to kill us not ten minutes ago. He is probably still trying to find my cubicle to shoot me in the back of the head. Konami, my boss, would have to clean my brains out from my keyboard."

"Konami is still working there?" asked Brian, remembering his old CSSR boss from ten years ago, the one that wanted Toby dead.

"Yeah."

"Is she still a hardass?"

"Yup. She went down to where your head exploding jamboree took place along with the rest of the crew you worked with."

"Good thing I got the hell out of there."

"Brian, your face is all over the news. They are trying to get you back. Remember, all of them had their hands in that incident ten years ago."

"Right. Anyways, the flight out of here: when were you going to tell me about this?" asked Brian, standing up.

"Over dinner tonight, but seeing _we_ are _going_ to be eating lasagna out of microwave trays on our flight, I won't be telling you anymore."

"You are a brilliant, _brilliant _person," he admitted, grabbing her cheeks and landing a quick one on her lips.

She smiled and said, "Come on, let's go. We have a flight to catch."

_**One**_**, Zareka Ward, The Citadel**

Walter was mesmerized by the romantic meaning behind the numbers, the sunrise, the two egg yolks, the egg basket, the riddle, and the blue lake. It all made sense and had confirmed that the Dreamcatchers were a powerful branch if one could decipher the images and feelings they received during REM sleep.

The five course meal at _One_ was the best in his life, better than his wife's cooking.

He smiled as he tipped Jack generously, the kind man who seated him at his table and accommodated the confusion so well.

Oh how excited he was to see his family before hunting down the Heikos, Brian Hilliard, and Pira T'Estoni, but he would have to visit them later. Right now, his mission was of the utmost importance.

He now had an address and continued to read about Pira' T'Estoni's background. She was a younger asari, still in her youth, and was an emergency call receiver for both the CSSR, and normal C-Sec Enforcement Agents. Her criminal record was clean, plus she had worked on the streets as an Enforcement Agent for ten years, so she knows how to handle a gun—knows how to take life when boundaries are pushed. She then worked as a Network Agent, fighting cyber-criminals for twenty years when she showed her expertise on a case. Before all of that, she went to college as a software engineer, and then got a degree in Criminal Justice.

Why did she work on the streets when she had a degree in Software Engineering?

Odd.

Anyways, Walter had an address.

It was to Pira's house, here on the Zakera Ward, not twenty minutes away. He was going in unarmed, making it a fair game of survival of the fittest. Walter had killed three Spectres before this. He was good at it, but it took time to locate them. Two of them did not even know he was there; the other, well Walter took her out face-to-face.

People do not expect danger coming from a humble man in expensive civilian clothing.

The two he had killed without their knowledge brought back memories. One was a salarian, Lorein Tak, former STG operative turned Spectre due to her courage on a krogan outpost somewhere on a planet Walter does not bother pronouncing.

Walter picked a wad of imported Kobe beef out from between his front teeth.

It was a single, sterile sniper shot to the head from two kilometers away that killed the salarian. He did not enjoy the kill—it left a bad taste in his mouth. It was somehow dishonorable.

The other was a krogan on Omega. He spiked the Spectre's drink with a paralyzing agent that kicked in hours after ingestion. He slit the krogan's throat later that night. Little did that krogan know, the man he sparked a hardy, drunken conversation with at the bar, dressed in civilian clothes would come back in the middle of the night and kill him.

Talk about a killer hangover.

Walter grinned and thought about his past. It suddenly hit him. Walter does not like taking targets out at long ranges, does not take enjoyment in killing people with clean and bland methods. He wanted to know the people he killed before actually seizing life with swift and hard blows. Much like the third Spectre he killed, it was personal. Walter watched the asari's pupils dilate to large, flat black disks when he stood over her. The asari was tasked with actually killing Walter himself when Walter was assigned to eliminating the asari Spectre. The Council caught word of Spinnaker and sent one of their best agents after him, but much like a mirage, he slipped through their fingers.

Walter descended on an elevator and stepped on the Citadel's subway that shot him like a bullet towards Pira's home.

Several months ago, Walter read _The Most Dangerous Game_, written by Richard Connell. It was a thrilling tale that left Walter on the edge of his leather wing-backed chair from cover to cover. It was one of his all time favorites. Taking a seat on the congested train, Walter thought about the antagonist of the novel and saw himself mirrored in the black ink of General Zaroff. In the novel, General Zaroff invited one of the world's best big game hunters, Sanger Rainsford, onto his island to co-operate in a hunt, when it turns out, General Zaroff wanted to hunt Rainford—a man. Man is the most dangerous game since they are cunning and can hunt back.

Once at his destination, Walter stepped out and walked the streets below until he found Pira's apartment complex.

Toby and friends are not going to kill him. Walter is not over-confident or cocky—but calculating and fair. He holds his prey in high esteem, which gives him the most satisfying thrill. Walter had cultivated a very deliberate and aristocratic way of hunting over the past years giving him a sharp edge against his enemies.

Walter confidently walked into the lobby of Pira's apartment complex and took a momentary pause to gander at the beautiful building. It was obviously asari design and run, with a few human tenants here and there. Before Walter, there were long drawn out curtains hung from four stories above and draped into soft and flowing piles on the white floor. They shifted in color, from purple to blue to turquoise. A statue of an asari goddess stood in the center of the lobby holding a flute to her marble lips, robes only draped around her elegant waist. The Widow was soothed by lavender tinted floor-to-ceiling windows. Just for a moment, Walter stood still and pushed both hands deep into his pockets to feel the cool silk brush against his hands that were soon to bare yet another kill. He relished the gentle breeze before the storm.

It was time to enter the elevator and meet Pira T'Estoni on the thirty-fifth floor. That was where she lived. Hopefully she was going to be there, but her profession might suspend her death for several hours—he had no idea when she was going to be home from work. Until then, Walter could get to know poor, poor Pira by rifling through her things, in a respectful manner, of course. It was truly shocking how much one can learn by stepping into their sanction, their threshold, and just look around. Walter strolled to the elevator.

He liked the sound of his hard soled shoes clicking on the ground.

Walter pressed the corresponding button and turned around to watch the door close, but a human arm snaked through the gap. A husky man and an asari breached the cabin.

"So sorry, we're in a rush," said Pira T'Estoni breathless.

Walter smiled and looked to ceiling, whispering a thanks.

"Excuse us, sir," said the bulky man Walter knew as Brian Hilliard. Walter was genuinely surprised and admittedly, a bit shaken as they entered. It was a bone fide surprise.

Walter smiled and asked, "What floor?"

Pira gasped, "Thirty-five."

Walter coolly re-pressed thirty-five, and then pressed fifty for himself, not to look suspicious.

"No, wait, Pira, don't we have to get the thing from up top?" asked Brian.

"Oh, yeah, I'm _so _sorry, we need to get to ninety-one," apologized Pira.

"Oh, it is not a problem," said Walter happily, still gleaming a smile.

The elevator doors closed and gravity tugged on Walter's shoulders.

"So, you seem to be in a rush. Where might you be going?" asked Walter with a curious smile.

"We are going on a honeymoon, to Virmire," said Pira, throwing her hand into Brian's. The deadly man known as Brian Hilliard embraced hers.

Walter noticed Brian's puzzled look, then it shined to a glint of joy.

"Congratulations you two!" celebrated Walter. "I hope you enjoy it there. I have heard it is a seraphic spot everyone should see in their lifetime. Just be careful, I hear pirates like to hit that planet."

"Thank you and we will be careful," said Brian. "Your accent, is that French?"

"_Oui_!"

"Man, I took French in high school and bombed it."

"English is my second language. If you thought French was hard, try learning English."

"Hey buddy, I still have a hard time with it."

Walter laughed and acknowledged that Brian's sense of humor would have made him a fun friend. Walter could tell he had a big, golden heart, but was linguistically challenged. Everyone has their weak spots—for Brian, it was language.

When the doors binged opened at floor fifty, Walter said, "Have a nice honeymoon, Brian and Pira." He shook both of their hands.

"Did we… tell you our names?"

"I heard you say them on your way in the elevator," smiled Walter. "Like I said, I have a good ear for language."

Both Brian and Pira shrugged as the doors closed.

Walter whistled _Humpty Dumpty's _basic tune and walked over to the adjacent elevator, pressed the green down arrow, and waited. He now knew who he was hunting and even though they were lying about their marriage and honeymoon, Walter could sense an inseparable bond between them—they had chemistry and a connection, which made things even more interesting. Walter felt a spark of sadness deep in his gut that zapped his smile away. They had something between each other and he was about to splinter it into thousands of bleeding fragments.

Stepping into the elevator, he knew what had to be done.

He knew what love felt like and conjured images of his wife and two little girls. Walter Spinnaker walked to Pira's apartment after stepping off the other elevator and pressed her electronic code in. The door popped open and led into a naturally well lit room. Walter found the bedroom and addressed Pira's neatly made bed and locked onto the bathroom. It had a window from the outside looking in.

The Citadel is a romantic city. Many consider it a space station, but its forty-seven kilometer long arms were anything but—it had attitude, culture, an incredible population, and a buzz that many cities Walter had visited lacked. It truly was a city in the grandest scale. Walter turned off the bathroom light Pira must have left on earlier in the morning and with a frown, looked over the king sized bed.

It was a shame, really.

He felt a hidden angst between them. Secretly, they loved each other. Walter pulled back the shower curtain and stepped over the bathtub wall, making sure not to disturb or bump over Pira's bottled soaps with the pointed tips of his obsidian shoes. Before closing the curtain, on the sink was a picture of Brian Hilliard. Walter peered away and sighed.

The least he could do was kill them together.

**Floor Thirty-Five, Optha Apartments, The Citadel**

Pira mentioned that she needed to retrieve security tapes on the upper floor security office to look over on the trip to Bekenstein, just to make sure she was not being trailed, or maybe to be extra cautious and make damn sure her apartment had not been breached beforehand. They could not risk being followed.

"I am extra cautious, Brian," said Pira, trying her hardest to punch in her apartment security code to unlock the door. Brian grabbed her blue hands to steady them after she cursed from just mashing the number pad, her shakes too overwhelming.

"You're with me, Pira. Nothing bad will happen. I've been baptized in fire before and I always come out unscathed—unburned, so will you. We're a team, we have been through tougher shit than this, and you know that."

"Yeah, right. I supposed you are right," she muttered, squeezing Brian's hand before letting go. Her fingers were now like those of a pianist.

"A sniper would kill to have those fingers," Brian joked.

Pira choked a laugh and the locks disengaged.

"We need to be quick. There is no telling _when _they will be here," said Brian, holding open the door. "You know, this is the first time I've been to your place."

Pira turned around with a fragile smile on her face. "I trust you now."

"What, you didn't trust me _before_?" he quipped.

"No, I mean I did… but, not like now."

Her apartment was nicer than both of his combined. Seeing that she was a couple hundred years old, she better damn well have a lot of money.

"You have a spare bedroom?" asked Brian, shocked.

A single person living with an extra room on the Citadel was a rare commodity since rent could shaft even the richest of people.

"You never know when you have guests. I have family members, you know," said Pira. "I'm not some crooked ass hermit."

"Was that bedroom for me?" asked Brian, leaning against the wall.

"You get the couch if you ever get my permission to sleep over."

He laughed for the first time today. Damn did it feel good—breathed life through what seemed to be a dead end.

"Seriously, you need to pack your things and we have to get the hell out of here, Pira."

"On it."

"Get a change of clothes. I am not sure wearing that uniform around will do you any good. You will stick out like a person with a 'shoot me' sign on their back."

"Right."

Brian continued to consult her: "Do you have a gun?"

"Yes."

"What about a bullet resistant vest from your days working in Enforcement?"

"I have that as well."

"You'll be needing that. Grab any raw credits laying around, maybe some of those gift card, non-traceable credit chits you convert my pay with, and a bag, preferably a backpack like I'm wearing," said Brian, pointing at his back. "Just make a bug-out-bag as fast as you can. I'll grab some food from your refrigerator, that way we don't need to spend money—cut our costs."

Pira nodded and disappeared into her bedroom while Brian walked into her quite sizable kitchen. She seemed to be very well off even though she was helping Brian survive through this tough time. Man, he hated taking money from her to use it on his own survival. He could afford to live by himself, do it all alone, but he hated to admit there was something nice to having a guardian angel looking over him.

He tore open the refrigerator in search of goodies to bring on the trip. Seeing the rest of her apartment was painfully neat, he expected the same of her refrigerator, and he was right. He guessed that someone who works with computers and phone calls all day would be neat, especially a software engineer and hacker. She had dates on all of her leftovers, her condiments were alphabetically ordered, and he noticed there was no crusty ring of ketchup that wreathed the cap of the bottle. She had accomplished something Brian had failed to do all his life.

Who knew asari liked ketchup anyways?

Brian glanced away from the refrigerator and through the cracked door of her bedroom, accidentally catching a glimpse of her with her uniform off as she strapped the vest on over her bare torso, her back turned to him.

Brian tore his eyes away from her and felt his chest tighten, so he grabbed some lunch meat, the ketchup, a package of cheese and closed the refrigerator door with a soft _whoosh_.

"Where do you keep the bread, Pira?" asked Brian, yanking open cabinets. He looked through the ones above the counter, hoping to see through the glass doors and find a loaf of pre-cut white bread.

"Right here," she said, bursting out of the bedroom and wrestling an arm through a jacket sleeve.

"Did you put on your vest?"

"Yeah, it's under my shirt," she said, pushing the loaf into his chest, smiling, like she knew something.

"I got lunch meat, so we can make sandwiches on the road."

Brian zipped up his backpack and followed Pira into her bedroom.

"Damn girl, do you really make your bed every morning?"

"What, you don't? Oh, wait…"

"Hey, I am on vacation. I don't need to make my bed."

"Not anymore."

Pira worked on the boots from her Enforcement days, grabbed a canister of pepper spray, and patted her hips as if looking for one other thing.

"My gun."

"It's right there on your bed," said Brian, pointing at the holster of her service weapon.

"No, not that one." She turned to Brian and smiled, "That is my wimpy one. C-Sec doesn't like to issue good sidearms. Oh! Bathroom, that's right."

"Wait, you have one for home defense?" he asked, following her into the bathroom.

She flicked on the light, yanked something off the counter, and said, "Well yeah. After what happened ten years ago, the first thing I did after Toby disappeared was leave work, bought a sandwich, and purchased a gun. You can never be too careful. This whole thing could have come back to me and look at who was right?"

Brian turned his back to her and stared out of the bedroom window that replaced the whole wall parallel to Pira's bed. He had to admit, he was going to miss the Citadel and all if its memories, both horrific and wonderful. The whole city slowly turned, churning the soupy vapors of the Widow nebula. It was silent in the room, save for Pira knocking over bleach bottles and such in the cabinet under her sink. Brian always imagined the Citadel moaned and groaned, similar to a massive whale in an ocean, but he realized the structure had nothing, no one to call out to. It had itself, all 7.11 billion metric tons of it and its shawls of nebulous gas, dressed as a widow longing for a partner.

"Goddamn, you have a hand cannon?" yelped Brian as Pira, with an egotistical smirk, brandished a pistol the size of her head.

"I want to stop someone first shot. If they have kinetic barriers, then I will put them down on the second."

"You're full of surprises, Ms. T'Estoni."

"Now, I think we have everything," she said, hand on her hip, head swiveling on its socket as she looked around the apartment one last time.

She sighed and whispered, "I am going to miss it here."

"We are going to see our old friends again, Pira."

Pira released a crooked smile and said, "Yeah, we have that to look forward to. Let's just hope these freaks didn't get to them first."

"We have intelligence and the element of surprise, though."

"I read the note. They know where the Heikos are located. We are running out of time," Pira shot back, walking out to the common room of her home.

"Brian?"

Her voice raised the hairs on the nape of Brian's neck, not in a bad way, but in the best damn possible manner. He locked eyes with her and responded, "Yeah?"

"I… _gah_, never mind."

"Come one, spit it out. You can trust me."

She put a hand to her forehead and shook her head, "It's… really childish."

"I'm not leaving here until you say it."

Brian grabbed her hands reassuringly.

"I think you and I have—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Brian tasted metal in his mouth and heard the snapping of static electricity, could even see it arcing on Pira's black jacket.

Brian was knocked to the ground as a detonation roared inside of the apartment complex, coupled with the unmistakable noise a biotic discharge makes. His face, neck, and hands were sandblasted with scraps of drywall as he somersaulted into Pira's dinner table, crashing into it, cracking the heavy wood. All breath was _ripped _from his lungs and he tasted blood in his mouth, felt it running down his lips and neck. He coughed, but could not hear himself do so. A warm mist dabbled his face and he inhaled fire. He was able to open his eyes for a moment and noticed Pira's ruptured mace bottle spinning on the floor, gushing orange mist from a hole in the side of the canister. A hard, hot pain _kicked_ his back as he tried to move, removing the last breath he had. Brian aimlessly and frantically mauled the floor with his fists, trying to fend off the culprit of the explosion, but landed an open palm on something fleshy. Managing to open his eyes once more, he was staring into the face of Pira T'Estoni lying on her back, arms and legs spread out in unspeakable, ragged angles.

Powder from the drywall settled on her open eyes.

"_God fuckin' damn it_!"

Brian shut his eyes and inhaled more mace, but he was still able to scream—tear what was left of this throat into red, bloody ribbons.

"_Fuck you! Where are you?_"

He opened his eyes again, hoping everything would restart from the beginning as they walked into the apartment.

Pira still laid on her back, her powdered eyes staring up into Brian's blotchy, soaked ones. He tore open her buttoned jacket and pressed on her chest, trying to revive her from the dead. He did not want that bastard taking the sweetest thing he had in his life from him, right between his goddamn fingers. He pressed on her chest, but his hands sunk into her dilapidated breastplate, much like they would if he pressed hard enough to breach the walls of a weaver's basket, breaking the threaded brittle branches. The sound and texture was enough to make him wretch. A blip of blood lapped out of her gaping, blue mouth, dribbling down her chin, staining her shirt. He recoiled backwards and muttered the most deplorable and pathetic whimper a grown man has ever emitted. Yet he still fought the mace and spun around to the six foot hole in the wall. Beyond that portal, Brian could see Pira's bathroom and bedroom. Honeyed light oozed out of that doorway, but was suddenly blocked by a blackened silhouette of a person Brian remembered.

It was the French man from the elevator.

He was hunting them as well.

Another freak.

There is more than only one.

The crumbs of drywall and glass crackled under the freak's heavy, yet precise and deliberate footsteps as he maneuvered his way through the clouds of debris like a shark through a kelp field.

This was it.

This was the end of him.

First Pira and now him.

_Not without a goddamn fight! _

Brian stood and wiped his face, the N7 training kicking in, as well as hysterical strength and the most primordial survival instinct. Fight or flight his ass. He was going to stand his ground and fight this mother-fucker even without a gun. Everything appeared as if it was an oil painting done by Gustave Doré—it was a hellish realization that he was staring the devil—death, right in the face.

Brian took a swing at the smear and his fist bit into nothing but the brittle crumble of drywall. He pulled his fist out of the wall and spun around, wildly swinging at the darkest thing in the room, but like a shadow, the man from the elevator was untouchable, massless—nightmare material, when suddenly, the shadow hit back, and right in the center of mass. Brian realized that he, Mr. Hilliard, a bear-like man who had been in brawls with the best of them, could take a punch, but this freak hit like nothing he had ever experienced. It felt like a machined, pneumatic press had shot out of its sleeve and collided with him. This guy was definitely one of _them._

"Brian Hilliard, please sit down."

The voice was so nonchalant, not even the burning capsaicin from the mace could fight off the chill he got from the voice he heard.

"Sit down my _ass_," Brian screamed through webs of mucus and blood.

"So be it."

Again, Brian was hit, but the machine's fist cracked Brian in the head. For a couple of seconds, Brian thought his skull had split like an eggshell and almost blacked out. It hurt so bad, he thought he was going to die. Desperately, he groped his forehead to try and grab his brain before it spilt to the floor. He only felt blood. A palm and five hydraulically powered fingers wrapped around Brian's neck and lifted all two-hundred and fifty pounds of him into the air. It was not possible from a man of the freak's stature. Finally, Brian submitted as his eyes swelled shut and his body relaxed, embracing defeat.

"Brian, I apologize for killing Pira."

His voice was like snake venom, frostbite, chewing on glass, and broken bones all in one potent bundle.

"I could tell there was something between you. As I stood in her shower, I listened to you talk. Now, you may think I am a psychopath like your old pal Skave, but I can assure you, I am anything but. I am a sane man, and listen when I tell you she loved you. Find strength in that."

Brian could not find energy to hit this sonofabitch in the face and break his jaw. Instead, he tried not to listen to the man who was going to kill him.

"I found this in the bathroom. When she went to change clothes, she hid this picture under her sink and did not want you to see it. Brian, can you open your eyes?"

He was able to open his right one and through the slit, he could make out a picture of himself back in the old CSSR days, grasping a grilled hotdog with a smirk on his face and mustard smeared on the corner of his mouth at one of the Frisbee parties the unit would do with their families. Brian could see little Gia in the background, standing on the park bench giving Brian bunny ears with her two fingers.

"_Who_… who might that stud be?" asked Brian, and then spit the most gloriously bloody loogie known to mankind right on the freak's mouth. "Haha, _got you_."

"You spit in Death's face, I admire that, Brian. You are the bravest man I have yet to face and that is quite a feat. I have killed your significant other, yet you are still alive. No one should have survived that blast and if you have not guessed already, I am a biotic."

"No… shit, Sherlock," gasped Brian.

"Pira was important to you, as were you to her. I know that feeling. You are a brave soul and had persevered past your time—past what God gave you. You said no to his hourglass and flipped it yourself. Pira here died not because of me, but because God works in mysterious ways."

"Don't you _dare _say that about her! You did this, not some imaginary friend of yours!"

"Why do you think you are still alive? Physically, it is impossible that you… _dangle_ here before me. Divine intervention. God was not so merciful with Pira T'Estoni. He wants you to push on and live, so I will _not_ kill you."

The man dropped Brian and he coiled onto the floor much like a rope falling into a pile.

"I am going to spare you, Brian Hilliard. Now that you have survived this, I want you to recover. I want you to come for me and try to kill me. I have never met a formidable enemy before, but with your loss, rage, and raw willpower, I feel that I should leave you behind to live. A top predator's skills become blunt when there is nothing else able to hunt him—you are my whetstone, Brian. You are my Sanger," said the suited man as he walked over to Pira. "_My oh my_, she was quite a pretty girl."

He lightly touched her cheek and kissed her dusty forehead.

Brian, unable to see, let it happen. He would have tried to snap his neck if he saw.

"Who are you?" asked the former N7 operative, CSSR agent, and unknown to him, Specter candidate ten years ago.

The suited man stood, brushed the dust off his shoulders, and wiped Brian's scraped skin off his knuckles, and then announced, "I am Walter Spinnaker. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go kill Toby and Gia Heiko."


	8. Chapter Seven - Vehemence

**The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter Seven - Vehemence**

Gia Toshiko stepped off of her motorcycle and onto the gravel driveway of her father's house, the kickstand digging into the loose rock. Carefully, she held onto the bike, making sure she did not drop it on the insecure surface. This machine was too precious to her; she loved it and she took care of the bike, it taking care of her, save some speeding tickets. She pampered her vehicle much like her mother and father spoiled her as a kid, with both gifts and relentless love. It was a high maintenance bike; powerful, sexy, loud, and hungry.

Little did the kids at her old high school know, Gia, the sour little quarian filed among the ranks of the spoiled rotten, in fact came from new money. Gia despised the fact that she too participated in the act of freely taking cash from her parents instead of working hard for it.

One of her dad's vehicles was haphazardly parked in the driveway, facing the sheer cliff that stared at the city a couple kilometers away. The sun was still high in the sky and breathed hot exhaust ruthlessly down on the planet's surface, broiling everything that lived to a warm, wilted salad. Gia half expected her bike wheels to melt to the pavement on her way over here from school, yet her rubber tires were still intact, if not a little bald.

She admitted to herself that burning out in the school's parking lot was a bit childish.

Either way, it was going to piss off a lot of the school's superiors when they walk out to their cars and find black donuts burned into the student parking lot and bus lane. Her fellow students would find it hilarious.

The teachers and Dr. Jeff, not so much.

Good.

After her dumbass father moved out four years ago, he bought this cozy bungalow with the money he inherited as a home away from home. Mom and Gia held residence in one of the top floors of the second tallest apartment building in Milgrom. Its white, swooping sail shaped facade could be seen against the ocean of blue summer sky. It was a cloudless day—clear and hot, perfect for an assassin hidden in the nearby hills to place a well aimed shot into the center of Gia's face. The thought penetrated her nerves as her hand ferociously gripped the backpack that cradled the pistol and the chisel she stole from the woodshop. She spun away from her motorcycle and proceeded to walk up to the front door of her dad's house, along a chalky, gravel walkway that snaked between the brown dead grass that summer had pounded into submission. Her dad's bungalow was small, obviously, but well built and smartly designed. The views the property was built on must have cost more than the house itself.

He had an irrigation system, but must have forgotten to use it since summer's early arrival had nuked every living thing on his property. The birds in the trees were quiet; only loud, rackety insects hissed and creaked in the dried, thorny shrubs on the hill facing the house. Four years ago, before the Incident happened, he would have lovingly cared for the lawn. Being an Earth kid, Dad secretly enjoyed landscaping as a pastime. Gia could remember watching him put everything he had into his herbs on the porch back home in the city of Milgrom.

The house itself, however, was Gia's favorite part of coming over. It was a vacation home for the previous owner who was an old CEO of some company on the Citadel. Spanish tiles, whatever those were, scaled the gently sloping roofs and the stucco walls were painted a tropical lime green, reminding Gia of a margarita. It was not utilitarian, or even useful for living in over long periods of time, but it was comforting, fun, and did not take itself seriously. Gia on the other hand, acted the opposite here, not being on the best of terms with her father.

She could not think of a better place to be than right here. Her dad, in a prior life, was a bad ass—a super-soldier of sorts. She hoped he would be able to take down just about anyone or anything thrown at them. If Mr. Batshit Insane Liebermann was right, then yes, this was the best place to be. Gia had a gun back at home in the city, in her closet, hidden in a model spaceship box, but here, shooting weapons was a pastime she and her dad enjoyed. He kept a lot of them at home.

This made her feel good.

There was still the fact that the police had to be out for her arrest, but nothing had come up yet. No wailing sirens, no legions of black armor-clad Special Response agents, and no Detective Landford were in sight.

As Gia stepped up on the pale brick stoop to her dad's place, she felt like everything was going to work out.

_ It was out of self defense, killing the blonde assassin_, she reassured herself.

Gia knocked on the door and waited.

She wondered if her dad had been watching the news, same with Mom. Uncle Brian was all over it, surely they would recognize him in an instant.

Gia knocked again, this time with an open palm.

The door stared back at Gia, as if it was mumbling to itself that no one was allowed to pass.

Mom was at work all day. She might not even know what happened on the Citadel, but they do listen to the radio at the shop, though it is mainly music. The news is a sad station to work to since all they broadcast is the bad stuff that happens, making everyone's perspective on the galaxy shift to a forlorn and dark place.

Gia knocked again and with an exasperated sigh, lost her patience. She blew her frustration out of the corner of her mouth as she bent over to grab the hidden plastic bullfrog hiding in the bush next to the door. She brushed off the red ants crawling over the frog, flicked open its bloated neck and plucked the key from the hidden chamber. Gia stared into the bullfrog's realistically judgmental and condescending eyes for a moment.

"What are you lookin' at?"

The plastic frog did not respond, so she threw it back into the bush and unlocked the door to let herself in.

Stupid frog.

Her suit appreciated the cooler air and did not have to work as hard to maintain Gia's fragile body.

"Allan, Toby, whatever you go by now, coming in, ready or not," she shouted as she slammed the door behind her. "Toby, you home?" Gia stood still in the foyer, avoiding the pine floorboards she knew creaked.

"Hello?" she persisted, mouth slightly parted, intent on catching any signs of life.

It was a small but comfortable open floor plan with one big square room as the public area of the house. The back wall was a panoramic window, letting Gia's parrot, Mango, stare off into the distance of the city.

"Hey, Mango," yelped Gia, pocketing the spare key of the house.

Mango, her true best friend, imported from Earth, was an African Grey. In a chilling electronic voice, he said, "_Hello, Gi-Gi, my Gi-Gi!_"

Mom did not want the bird at their house since being clean was such an important role. The dander from Mango could kill them if they were not careful enough. Gia loved her parrot.

The house was melancholy... dead quiet, save Mango talking to himself in undecipherable grumbles.

Suddenly, it hit her. What if, _no_.

What _if _Crazy Old Bastard Liebermann was right? What if there were assassins going after her and her scumbag father?

What if they were here, right now?

Gia's heart stammered, then _lunged _forward at a full out sprint. Dropping to her knees, Gia unzipped her school bag and raided the inside for the handgun she stumbled upon earlier this morning. Her finger slipped into the flash-hider of the weapon and she grabbed it, half expecting a squad of assassins to release a folly of bullets right into her center of mass from hidden positions behind the furniture in the living-room directly at her twelve-o-clock. The sidearm hissed and _locked _open in her hand as she drew it from her pack.

Nothing was waiting for her.

Swinging the backpack over her thin shoulders, she began to clear the bungalow, just like her dad drilled her to do.

Check the corners.

Check the windows.

Be quick.

Scan.

Reacquire a bead.

Sights at chest level.

Repeat.

The kitchen was clear, as was the living-room and the attached breakfast bar. The main bathroom was empty and all that was left was the master-bedroom, garage, and patio out back.

Gia heard a groan and footsteps coming from the hallway leading to the bedroom, coat closet, and garage. Back against the wall, she waited. The door opened to her dad's bedroom, currents of light chasing the darkness from the hallway.

Gia held the weapon behind her back as her father rounded the corner, gunning for the kitchen.

"Did I wake you?" asked Gia, fumbling to get the weapon in her school pack from behind.

"_Whoa __shit_, Gia, you scared the hell outta me!"

Gia eyed her dad.

"Please tell me you were sleeping."

Gia pointed at his lower half, clothed by only boxers. He had gotten lazy with his upkeep. Gia could remember how he used to precisely dress himself each morning, shave every day, keep a close-to-the-scalp buzz, and not look like a slob. Now he seemed to be intentionally dressing like a hobo. His face was coated in a thick salt and pepper beard, hair silvered at the temples, and it appeared as if his pillow had been wrestling with his now longer hair. A stained white undershirt was the last of his disgusting attire, like he rolled around in the garage, ran a marathon in the heat, and then slobbered and drooled over himself in a power-nap that only a horse sized dog could share in common with Dad.

"Toby, pay attention, it's not Halloween. You are accurately portraying a homeless man. It is shocking to say the least," commented Gia, disgusted by the shaggy man that stood before her.

"What day is it?" asked Toby.

"_Uh_, it's the beginning of the weekend."

"It's your week to be here?" he further interrogated his daughter, still dazed and confused, shielding his eyes from the light with his right hand.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Huh, I thought it was still in the middle of the week. _Uh_, let me get some clothes on, Gi-Gi."

"You know I don't like to be called that, _Toby,_" she shouted to him as he waddled back into his bedroom, not even bothering to close the door to dress.

Gia combated her heart, trying to coo it into submission—calm it down. For a moment, she had thought her father was dead.

Well, he looked like the walking dead, but that was totally irrelevant.

In the center of the living room, right in front of the holographic television, was a tile saw balanced on two sawhorses.

"Are you doing some renovations on this shack?" shouted Gia, thumbing the toothed blade.

"I'm redoing the backsplash in the kitchen. I don't like the color. It looks like a prosthetic limb. How was school?" he asked from his bedroom, regaining composure.

"Really shitty," she grumbled while greeting Mango in his cage. Both pupils dilated in delight at seeing his sister. Gia reached a slender finger between the bars of the cage to pet his ashy head. Mango released a satisfying purr and clicked…until he bites through her suit and kills her with his beak bacteria.

Gia did not think his beak was _that_ strong.

Well maybe.

"Toby, Mango has no goddamn water," Gia said sharply. "Or seed."

She peered to the bottom of the cage and saw a nibbled, quarter-moon shaped pizza crust propped against a fallen toy. "Come on, boy, let's get you something to eat," she whispered to Mango, her friend of ten years. It was a shame she could not have him back at home. She understood why, though. The parrot stepped onto her finger and Gia placed him on her shoulder. He chewed on the backpack strap hungrily.

Gia walked to the kitchen and scrutinized the mess her father had left. A loaf of bread was colonizing mold spores, hopefully plotting an invasion to the rest of his bread cabinet. That would teach him a lesson. An old, black tomato rotted on a yellowing cutting board and his knives were encrusted in filth. His sink was piled high with a bombed out cityscape of dishes and glasses. Under greasy paper towels and napkins, Gia found several empty alcohol bottles.

Tequila, rum, and some really shitty vodka—all hard liquor; all poor quality, designed to get the customer drunk and fast. A beaded line of ants ran from the sink, down the cabinets, and onto the floorboards. Probably relatives of the ones that were on the bullfrog. Maybe they saw the key-keeper as a god and gave him gifts of bread crumbs, sugary cereal, and coffee grinds as offerings. Gia found a wedge of dried apple and fed it to Mango, who quietly accepted. His large, clumsy foot wrapped around the fruit and he dined happily, grumbling parrot-speak to himself, maybe even cursing his lazy owner in African.

"Hey, I think you have an ant problem, Toby," she addressed him as he briskly walked into the kitchen, trying desperately to clean up and dispose of the alcohol bottles without Gia seeing them.

"Toby, I've seen them already," said Gia, pointing to the vodka bottle. "Do you have any more?"

"Goddamn it, Gia. Are you still drinking?" he asked, eyes squinting with fatherly concern.

"Yeah, and for the same purposes as you." She walked over and opened the refrigerator. It was a disaster. The freezer was sprayed in brown liquid and Gia spotted the guilty ruptured soda can rolling out onto the floor.

"I was going to clean before you came, Gia. I'm sorry," he said, dropping a glass cup into the sink, shattering a couple of dishes. "_Shit._ I don't normally live like this. Today is an exception, babydoll. Don't think of me like this."

"Toby, do you need help cleaning up?" asked Gia, gathering five… _six _large pizza boxes from the breakfast counter. Under the mess, the kitchen was actually nice, professionally equipped, and rustic, matching the tropical feel of the house.

"Don't call me that," said her father.

"Don't call you _what_?"

"_Toby._ It's just… weird."

"Okay, _Dad_," she huffed. "This kitchen is an atrocity; if you worked at the 21 Hour Diner, I'd have your ass fired ASAP."

"Go ahead and fire me. I can watch you clean, Gia," he said out of a smile on the corner of his mouth.

"Dad, you're fired."

"Okay then," he said, dropping a couple of dirty paper towels in the trash. "I'm just going to watch some vids," he laughed.

"Dad, I'm joking. Get your ass back in this kitchen and help me clean," she shouted, pointing to the floor with an air of authority that reminded Gia of her mom.

"Yes ma'am."

They silently cleaned for a couple of minutes, not speaking to each other. It was the awkward kind of silence that Gia hated, yet enjoyed since it was pure entertainment to see the other person squirm under the uncomfortable circumstances.

Mango had a couple of things to say like _water, please _and _clean faster, Dad!_

"So school sucks, eh?" asked her dad, adding to the _clanks_ and _clacks _of the kitchen being scrubbed. The sounds were all too familiar. They sucked Gia into a trance.

"You have no idea," said Gia, taking a moment to scratch Mango's belly with a dirty chopstick. He tore it away from Gia and chewed on it, his eyes dilating gleefully while eating off the grit with his great black tongue.

"How's that girl, oh what's her name… _Laura_. Is she behaving herself?" asked her dad.

"Actually, I broke her nose today."

"You did _what_?" he shouted, dropping dehydrated noodle packets into the new bag of trash.

"Yeah, you know Norry, right?"

"Of course. She is a sweet girl and really likes my cooking."

"Yeah. Well anyways, Laura said something bad behind her back and you know me, I'm a loyalist—don't mess with my friends and especially, don't talk behind their backs. If you want to say something to someone, you need to say it to their face. I lost it today and I crushed her face with her drafting textbook—that's the big one Mr. Burns teaches us from. She also said something about you, I think that is what triggered my outburst."

"You were defending yourself—sticking up for people you care about. It's people like you, Gia, that make tyrants step off their pedestal of power. Hell, for all we know, she could have become one of those reality vids jerks that have invaded broadcasting, or a cruel politician."

"She is too dumb to be a politician," stated Gia.

"My point exactly. When have you seen a smart politician?"

"_Hmm_, you're right, Dad."

Gia watched her father's face melt with joy when she used his proper name.

Dad.

At that moment, Gia stopped cleaning the dishes and realized that she and her dad were going to probably be dead within a couple of hours and these were going to be the last moments she got to spend with her father. Their fates, if what Four Eyes Liebermann said was true, were intertwined, both of their consequences rippling towards a common end.

Distracted from reaching a hand into the biohazard sink plug, on Gia's HUD, she noticed Detective Landford called yet again. Her heart, now at a constant race, was not affected by his third phone call. Why he was calling could only be tied to the airport shooting.

Gia stared at Dad and frowned. Even after all he had done and been through, he still had a smile on his face and directed all his energy towards his daughter who he loved dearly. His altruism towards her was humbling, but Gia had a hard time breaking over the wake and regaining his trust. What he did four years ago was horrible, but he tries hard, _so _hard to make it up to Gia. He speaks with great fervor towards her, his voice flooded with love and care.

He still broke her fucking heart, but to mend it back to its original shape and form would be almost impossible to do. Four years ago, her caprice shifted towards the shadows instead of the light, all because of him and of the unspeakable deed he acted upon.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Honey?"

"What happened ten years ago on the Citadel that changed you and Mom so radically? You have never really talked about it before. I just kind of... feel like it's time to know what happened."

Toby stopped loading the dishwasher and stared into the distance, his dark eyes glazing over with malignant luster, memories of long past chopping their way back into his thoughts. Gia stared at his bare foot where several toes had gone missing from an "accident" back on the Citadel.

"You keep what happened a big secret, yet I see it tears you apart on the inside. It's just… I'm concerned for you, Dad."

She could not believe she said that. Maybe... just _maybe_, living life when it is about to be taken at a moment's notice changes the beholder. Gia surely felt changed and was undergoing a certain transformation.

She felt like a cocooned butterfly stuck on a web, struggling to get out of the pupa before a spider kills her. Gia stopped breathing as she felt the Devil on her right shoulder throwing a fit. The younger Gia had momentarily come out.

It felt weird.

It felt… _good._

"I guess it's time for you to know what really happened, Gi-Gi." Toby looked down to his grown daughter and hugged her small, fragile frame. She embraced him back. "Let's finish the kitchen and sit down on the couch for this one—it is quite a tale."

Gia feverishly scrubbed away, the mundane task of doing the dishes no longer annoyed her since she was brainwashed by soap bubbles and dishwater from work. This was what she did when she was not taming the stove and shoveling out hot breakfast food to miserable suits.

"Please, take a seat," said Dad, pulling up his recliner. Gia moved a pile of candy wrappers off the futon, her bed away from home, and eagerly leaned forward after she set Mango on top of his cage. His timber wolf grey feathers and volcanic tail were beautiful in the sunlight.

She could tell Dad was distressed and it was going to be painful to dig up the ghosts of the past—the fear, the pain, and the gut wrenching emotions will be swinging.

"Gia, don't tell Mom I told you about this, okay sweetie? She'll wring my neck."

"Okay."

"Don't tell anyone."

"I promise."

Dad cocked an eye at her. Gia sighed and held out her hand. "I pinky-promise."

"That's my girl. Now, what I am about to tell you is top-secret stuff, you hear? I know you have heard bits and pieces of this, stuff about Uncle Brian and a Spectre, but I am just going to lay it all out. All the cards are out on the table. Hands flat."

"Go for it."

"Gia, please don't think differently of me."

"Come on Dad, I bet this is going to be bad ass."

"It all started with a dream, ten years ago…"

Gia's father, her Dad, told the story in brutal detail. It was a harrowing tale of the likes that Gia would see in a thriller movie. She learned things about her dad that brought new light on the broken man sitting in front of her. He had a prior life and Gia had an unborn sibling that died before he married Mom. With a complex string of lies, Gia's dad fought off a Spectre and C-Sec with the help of Mom and Uncle Brian, only getting his foot shot off in the end, and once stable mindset shattered, but he persevered—survived against such uneven odds. Her father, what he went through to get Gia back, was fundamentally astonishing and proved his dedication of love towards his daughter.

"That's it. It was a giant mess of lies and deception that C-Sec had covered up and buried. Now, you know who your daddy _really _is. I did all of that for you, Gia." He poked Gia in the chest. "I did it for my girl."

Gia was speechless, which was a difficult task to achieve nowadays.

"Dad, I'm sorry for acting like a complete asshole to you. I had _no idea _you went through shit like that. I mean, like that is, was… _intense._"

"No, Gia. There is no need to apologize," said Dad, cupping her dainty, orange gloved hands. She grabbed his fingers. "What I have done… what I _made _you do, well you deserve to hate me. You have permission to never accept what I did four years ago—never forget what I did—never _accept _my actions; all I ask of you is to never forget who your old man was four years ago, and remember that I love you unconditionally. No matter your actions, no matter your thoughts, no matter what you choose to do in life, I will always support your decision and backup your actions. You are my little girl—my daughter, and I will do anything for you—lay on a grenade, throw myself in front of a bullet; I am there with you, sweetie."

Gia quivered for a moment, vibrating with angst and a cocktail of volatile emotions.

"You're making it hard for me to keep hating you, Dad," laughed Gia.

"Hate me all you want, Gia. Hate me with all your heart for all I care. Just don't forget me."

"Come on Dad, don't get all gushy on me. I will melt into a puddle," she said, blushing.

"Your mom is the ice queen—you need at least one parent to be the warm and fuzzy one," he chuckled, kissing her on the "forehead."

Gia groaned through the widest damn smile and wiped the smudge mark off her mask.

"You hitting Laura in the face, by the way, is awesome. She deserved it," said Gia's father, standing up and walking to the bedroom.

"Dad!"

He howled as he closed the door to use the bathroom.

Gia leaned into the blue futon and sighed, both eyes closed. For now, she felt safe with her dad who she just learned is a certified badass. If anyone comes for her, be it an assassin or Dr. Jeff, they were going to get their asses handed to them, she was sure.

Still, it was hard to grasp what Dad had just told her over the past hour and a half.

Shit, time flew by.

There were still no police or assassins.

She felt drained and closing her eyes was the second best thing to stim-programs. Her father opened the door and Gia heard keys jingling, being juggled by her dad. He whistled a tune familiar to Gia that sent a spike of adrenaline gushing through her body, yet it was not enough to jolt her wide awake.

He whistled _Humpty Dumpty_.

What Dr. Liebermann had said to Gia was, to put it lightly, batshit _insane_, but every syllable the Doctor said before that bullet pushed its way out the back of his skull was ringing true.

What if he _was_ right?

Gia managed to open one eye to spy on her father from a position only an old person close to death could be able to sleep at from the futon. She lazily grabbed the strap to her backpack and set it on her lap, hugging it.

"Gia, I'm heading out to the grocery store, do you want to come?"

As of right now, yes, she would love to come.

Gia taxed her strength and moaned, "_Nah_, I think I am going to take a nap. I've had a long ass day."

"Okay, I'll be back with dinner supplies. Shall we cook when I get home?"

"Hell yeah," gurgled Gia, eyes snapped shut.

"_Goodnight, Gi-Gi, my Gi-Gi_," said Mango and like a maniac, banged his head against his now full water bottle.

"I can be your sous chef since you are better than me now."

"Right on, and Dad?"

Gia could hear him open the garage door, pausing to answer his daughter.

"Are you packing heat?" she asked, trying to keep the concern in her voice to a minimum.

"Always, why?"

"Just… be extra careful."

"Okay, honey."

The angel on Gia's left should plucked its harp and Gia repeated its lyrics: "I love you."

_315._

_98._

_76._

_12._

_315._

_98._

_76._

_12._

_Numbers. A set of four, dancing against cogs dusted with ashes, washed with blood. What do they mean? Cogs go in a circle, but why blood? Why numbers? Why not tell me with words?_  
_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,_  
_Humpty Dumpty had a great fall._  
_All the king's horses and all the king's men_  
_Couldn't put Humpty together again._

_A golden basket appears with three eggs. Easter eggs by the looks of it. Jewels… hard cut emeralds, sapphires, and topaz dot the eggs, glinting in two suns. Why this song? Why a lullaby?_

_315._

_98._

_76._

_12._

"_Three-fifteen, ninety-eight, seventy-six, and twelve. Three-fifteen, ninety-eight, seventy-six, and twelve!_"

Gia tore herself from sleep as a loud _bang _detonated directly in front of her. The pistol in the backpack had fallen from her hand and clattered to the floor, spinning and stopped, pointing at Gia. She gasped and tried to catch her breath that had leapt away, scared away by the heat in the dream.

"Oh shit!" she hissed and grabbed at her chest, batting it with hollow thumps as she threw herself off the futon and scrambled for the pistol on the ground. "What in the fuck was that?" she hoarsely asked herself, literally throwing the pistol back into her school pack. "I need something to write the numbers down on!"

Mango screamed in fear, awoken from his nap as well. He flapped his wings, ushering Gia to write down those numbers.

_ Fly, Gia._

Gia tore an empty pizza box from the trashcan and grabbed one of her dad's felt tipped markers lying on the kitchen table, scribing the numbers into the greasy, cheese encrusted cardboard.

_ 315, 98, 76, 12._

Gia collapsed into the chair and _clonked _her head onto the hardwood table, arms hanging and draped onto the floor.

"Gia, what have you gotten yourself into?" she asked herself.

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

The voice made her stomach drop between her legs.

It was her dad's.

Gia shot right up and slammed her hands onto the table, shooting her dad a predatory fast glance, her smoked veil shining a glint of savage terror.

"Dad!"

Gia could feel her bladder fire off a middle finger to her dignity as it emptied itself involuntarily for the second goddamn time today.

"Don't tell me you brought a gun to school," said her father fiercely, gripping an eggplant and a plastic produce bag. "That's a felony Gia! You can go to jail for something like that! After what you did to that poor person with the hot oil and French fries, you are out of 'get outta jail' tickets, sweetheart!"

"I c-can explain myself, Dad," she stuttered.

Gia could sense that the gun was arbitrary to this whole disaster. What really terrified him were the numbers written on the cardboard box. His dark eyes locked onto the scribble written into the pizza box and with the most deadly serious voice Gia has ever heard him use, he asked quietly, "Where in the _hell _did you get those numbers?"

It was as if her dad had transformed from the good guy to her enemy.

"My dream," she said, feeling ashamed for no reason at all. A loosening occurred at the hinges of Gia's reasoning as everything she thought to be an elaborate lie by a dead old man just fell apart. The door to evil had been explosively breached; the once whole understanding of her life Gia clasped onto now in splinters.

Nothing felt more real in her entire life than this singular moment. Everything that had transpired today was just confirmed to not be an elaborate nightmare—a wicked game created by the mind to test its host's ability to escape.

This was real.

Everything that Gia had dismissed—had feared would happen now straddled her chest and relentlessly smashed in her face, each punch humbling her more and more, bloodying her logic.

A knock at the door _sliced _through the tension in the room. Gia watched her dad's hand slide down his own face and he cursed, dropping the eggplant to the floor.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, now trembling. "Gia, answer the door, please." He pointed at her, his finger straighter than the barrel of a gun, and just as intimidating. "We'll talk later."

"Yes sir." She grabbed the brass doorknob and yanked it open.

She was greeted by the smiling face of Detective Landford dressed in his blues, hand resting on his holstered weapon.

Gia, blank faced, couldn't believe her eyes.

If her bladder had anymore urine, she would have flooded her suit and drowned.

Her heart hammered at its ivory cage.

She was done.

Caught by the police.

She was a convicted murderer.

Game over.

"Well, are you going to at least say _hello_?" asked the detective standing before Gia, who was about to pass out. Gia shied away from him and back into the house, too frightened to speak. Behind him, she saw no other police officers, no Special Response, but only two more parked vehicles and her mom.

She promised to stop by today and followed through.

Gia was going to feel better with both parents at her side while she is pushed into the back of a police cruiser clad in handcuffs.

"Come on in, detective," said Gia's dad acting as if nothing had happened seconds ago. "Nash, I… I'm happy you decided to show up," stuttered Toby, not even fighting the goofy smile crossing his ragged face.

_ What in the hell is going on?_

"Allan, how are you doing these days?" asked the detective, shaking his hand.

"Oh… well," he started, used to his new name by now, but distracted by Mom who walked in behind Landford. "I'm doing fine as of right now—perfect, actually. Better than ever," he said through an eager smile, looking at Mom.

Gia on the other hand, still had no idea what was unfolding before her. Wasn't he going to arrest her? Then it hit her. Every couple of months, Detective Landford came over to have dinner with Gia and her parents to catch up and see how progress was going. Today was one of those days. That must have been why he kept calling her today.

"Am I allowed to have my gun in your household?" asked Landford, draping his jacket over a peg in the wall behind the closed front door.

"Why yes, by all means," he reassured his guests. "Nash, hi."

From the glint in Dad's eye, Gia knew he still loved Mom.

"Hello, Allan."

She, however, did not. She was completely uninterested in him.

Both gave each other a casual hug and for the first time in four years, Gia hoped that one day, her dad would be able to win back Mom.

"So, dinner party, right?" laughed Gia, trying to play cool and fish for answers as to why the detective was in her dad's house. Since the Incident four years ago, their family had become close friends with Detective Landford and Gia knew one of his daughters who was a freshmen at her high school. They both tended to steer clear of each other.

"Yeah, again, Nash, I am happy you popped in. Are you staying?" asked Dad, hands clasped together, still under her spell.

Mom had both arms crossed over her chest, right leg popped out, leaning away from her former husband.

"Gia, would it make you happy if I stayed for dinner?" asked Mom.

"Mom, are you kidding me?"

"Is that a _yes _or a _no_?"

"_Yes_, please stay."

Gia wanted to spend the last moments alive with her family. Since what Dr. Liebermann had said was true, Gia could not ignore what had to be done and how it was probably going to end.

"I just came by to talk to your father about you-know-what, Gia, but that can wait until after dinner."

After putting Mango back in the cage, Gia groaned and walked into the kitchen. Dr. Jeff's abuse was the least of her worries, as was her suspending from school. Dad was not going to be happy about it.

_ Shit._

Why did all this have to happen today, all at once?

"Detective, can I pour you some wine before we start cooking?" asked Dad, grabbing two goblets.

"I'm off duty and have had one hell of a day, so yeah, why not?"

Gia watched the detective move to the breakfast bar pulling up a seat, while Mom walked to the sliding door that led to the patio out back, said hi to Mango, and watched the sun dip its bottom edge into the city. Gia admired Mom's elegant figure and caught eyes with her when she subtly turned her head. Gia knew Mom through and through, yet she was not transparent at all—Gia never knew what she was going to do, how she was going to act out, or what she was going to say. From her body language, she seemed nervous and enraged.

Understandable, but had she seen the news?

Had she seen Uncle Brian?

Only time will tell. Gia's main concern was Detective Landford. He was about Dad's age and very much like him, though he lacked a military background. Dad never mentioned how he was once a cop, because it could compromise Dad's cover, which Pira back at the Citadel had worked so hard on creating. Dad said he worked at home from his computer and that was it. Landford was shaved bald, head as reflective as a mirror, but he always missed a tuft of gray hairs right behind his ears. How his wife let him get away with that was unknown—maybe she thought it was cute. Regardless, for an older man, he seemed like he could get the job done. His right eye drooped lower than his left, but his ability to pick up details and subtleties on a crime scene or in body language was not affected by his lazy eye—he was anything but.

Based off the ingredients in front of them, Gia got the idea that eggplant parmigiana was in store for dinner, as was a wedge of lettuce, smothered in blue cheese dressing and bacon, served on an ice cold plate.

Gia started on the eggplant. She sliced them, dipped them in egg, and breaded them.

The eggs propped in the paper carton tightened her chest with anticipation.

How in the hell was she going to figure out what the dream meant?

Dad might possibly have a hint, but that was for later. The eggplant and staying cool took precedence to figuring out numbers and riddles.

"So, Mr. Landford, you said you had one hell of a day," started Gia as she heated a pan of olive oil over a burner.

"Right, well I just got off my flight at Milgrom Intergalactic and was waiting for my baggage when I got a call about a homicide in the parking garage—a shootout of all things happened there this morning. Four dead. No murder weapon to speak of, like a ghost did the killing."

"A firefight in Milgrom Intergalactic?" asked Toby, shocked. "Gia, you weren't working today, were you?" asked Dad.

"No, I was at school early studying for an exam for Mr. Burns—you know, in the library. Lucky I guess," she laughed innocently as she cautiously layered in the eggplant slices into the hot olive oil. It sputtered and smoked, so she turned the heat down.

"So what happened?" pressed Dad, cubing the bacon on his cutting board.

Gia noticed her mom had walked over and took a seat next to the detective. They too were strong friends.

"Nice of you to join us, Nashira."

Mom nodded, keeping quiet. It was unusual for her to do so.

"One of the victims is unidentified, but we suspect she was a Cerberus agent. She was gorgeous, save the bullet hole in her head. Don't tell my wife, Nash," laughed Landford nudging Mom.

"Don't worry, I can take care of you myself," said Mom, bouncing off his humor.

"Oh?"

"Have you ever been slapped in the face by a gloved hand from a quarian, then dragged to the back and spanked?"

"No, but I think I would like that, Nash," cheesed Landford.

Mom punched him in the arm.

"_Ow!_"

"You deserved it, detective," sneered Mom. "Marty, your wife would have done the same thing if she knew you were casually flirting with an alien, save her good friend."

"You're right," Landford laughed, his eyes disappearing behind his eyebrows.

Gia paused and felt weak at the knees. He was talking about the person she murdered and laughing; he truly did not know she had done it. The ragged wet bullet hole that Gia put into the assassin's forehead throbbed in her mind's eye—a red custardy ooze drooled from the wound and onto the polished pavement. Gia fought the urge to retch and flipped the eggplant slices while Dad cracked open a jar of imported _san marzano_ tomatoes, shipped in from the northern foothills of Italy back on Earth. He never skimped on quality ingredients. The chunky red tomatoes slipping into a hot pan of olive oil and garlic churned Gia's stomach. The tomato juice jumped and sputtered in the hot oil, spraying the brushed aluminum range red. Dad crushed the loose, soft, and ripe tomatoes with a potato masher, some of them spurting seedy red gore from their ruptured cavity as the metal crusher pulverized them into a chunky puddle.

Gia's world spun and she did not know where her feet were planted.

The ceiling?

The kitchen floor?

Gia gasped and braced herself against the counter. Detective Landford was concentrating on the bottom of his goblet, while Mom and Dad had noticed Gia's odd reaction. Gia brushed off their looks of concern by ignoring them and placing the fried eggplant slices on paper towels to soak up the excess oil.

"Cerberus, eh?" asked Dad. Cerberus, now knowing the full story behind what happened ten years ago, had attacked Skave, The Hunter, but failed to kill him. They were a pro-human faction that worked on their own terms. They are labeled fanatics and terrorists. Even though they were a little known pro-human militia, they were apparently efficient enough to put a Spectre out of business for a long while. This was big news. What in the hell did Cerberus want with Dr. Liebermann? Maybe Dad would know.

Would Dad even know who Dr. Liebermann was?

He did mention her father as if he knew him on a personal level, but Gia being cynical by nature still did not believe the entirety of his story, even though it was unwinding to be truthful, and she loathed finding out what awaited her at the end.

Her dad concealed an appearance of shock rather well at this news.

"Anyways," continued Mr. Landford, finishing off his wine. Dad topped him off with a generous portion. "The other guy was identified as Dr. Harris Liebermann, I am guessing he was the one who the assassin was after, coupled with two agricultural farmers."

_ One Thumb and Fireneck._

Stupid bastards they were, but still did not deserve to die.

The look of sudden shock and anguish on Dad's face scared the living _shit _out of Gia, like he was about to lose it. Again, the detective was busy obtaining a buzz from the wine. The name Liebermann shook him to the core and corroded the last of his mental structure into a thin cord, but he maintained structure and unity.

So it all was true.

Her dad was a Dreamcatcher and they both shared the same unique ability to peer into the future. Mom straightened up, her masked blue face switching between both Gia and Dad unable to decipher the fear and disturbance that had _crashed _into them, almost sweeping them off their feet.

"Do you know why the assassin was chasing… what was his name, Harry?" asked Dad.

"Harris. The Doctor's files were locked up tight with the key thrown away, or possibly incinerated. There was so much red tape on his background that not even I was able to cut through it all with a machete. Something fishy is going on here, but I have a feeling the assassin was ordered to kill him by _whatever_, or _whoever_ leads Cerberus. From what I got, the Doc works with the human government. There are reports that his wife and bodyguard were killed the other day back in New York City on Earth." He paused to sip his wine and Gia grabbed the fresh buffalo milk mozzarella from the grocery bag. Bending over to the floor was a bad idea. Her brain sloshed around in its cavity like the mozzarella in its bag of water as the last traces of that stubborn hangover stabbed at the back of her eyes.

Mr. Landford continued: "There is also news that a lab in New York City was breached where Liebermann worked and five people were gunned down by professionals. Two to the chest, one to the head kind of deal. I have a feeling they are linked somehow, but I don't have the details quite figured out yet. This whole case is quite bizarre and has the whole detective agency scratching their heads, me included. It's like someone is cleaning house."

That was it, the final detail Gia needed. Her knife _plonked _off what was left of her finger that she cut off a couple years beforehand, distracted by the downright horrifying news being relayed to her from this drunken conduit. The assassins' part in this twisted game had just been revealed—all the pieces of the puzzle set in place and confirmed. What Dr. Liebermann had told Gia before he ate a bullet was all confirmed by a legitimate source Gia could trust. Gia was convinced that she and her dad had to figure out what the dream meant then solve it.

It just seems so… _impossible _to do. How and where are they going to start? Nothing even remotely made sense.

"Did you get to watch the firefight at the parking garage via security cameras?" asked Gia, eager and motivated to get more information.

"Unfortunately not. Someone, probably the assassin, cut the feed. We are in the dark on this one, but we are going to continue questioning people tomorrow."

"Any witnesses?" asked Gia, spurred on to quench her curiosity.

"People heard gunshots, but no one saw anything."

Gia layered sauce, eggplant, and cheese into the casserole dish.

Repeat.

"Why here? Isn't Milgrom like, you know, the safest city in the Milky Way?" asked Gia, sliding the casserole dish into the oven's open mouth.

"We don't really know for sure. Why would Dr. Liebermann come all this way to Milgrom? We will nail this case for sure, but until tomorrow, we are going to be clueless." The detective finished his wine and asked for more. Dad obliged and Gia got the sense that if he could get the detective drunk enough, or at least buzzed—loosen him up, maybe he would leak the answers to their questions. Mom was still puzzled, fidgeting in annoyance for being left in the dark and a bit pissed off. Her shoulders were boxy and hands in tight, knotted fists in her lap.

"_Ey_, if you two are so interested in all of this, why don't you flip on the vids? I'm sure it is all over the news stations."

Gia briskly walked to the den and flicked on the holographic television with her breadcrumb and egg caked fingers.

The news anchor with the fake tan and opalescent chompers was still broadcasting the news. Gia never made the connection of how much he looked like Dr. Jeff, that rat bastard. She suddenly hated this news anchor even more than before as she propped a cheek onto the armrest of the futon.

They had now stopped broadcasting news coverage over the Citadel situation and focused their debate over the shootout in Milgrom Intergalactic.

The man with the tan spouted: "_Over much consideration, we've come to the conclusion that this was a terrorist attack provoked by aliens with four humans dead._" The anchor sighed and clasped his hands together. "_Now listen, the evidence has not stacked up based on what we are seeing. There must have been a fifth party member involved in this shootout—this slaughter of humans. No human on Milgrom could be this cold hearted. It must be an alien that did this. They were neat and tidy in this _execution _of humans. I understand that most living on this planet are here solely to get away from organisms not human. They are dangerous and should leave us alone. Most of you know I am a patriot and can relate to my pro-human agenda based off my late night show I host on the weekends, but we cannot let this stand. Aliens are a threat to this planet. The police are hiding something from us._"

Gia's fist curled into a ball, wanting to flip the coffee table her foot was resting on.

"That man is full of shit," spat Mom, speaking for the first time.

Everyone stared at her in surprise.

"How in the hell do they think they can make assumptions like this?" she asked, her fingers jabbing towards the screen.

"_Fifth suspect_," muttered the detective.

Never had Gia hated patriots more than right now. He was wrong and would never understand what had happened there. He would probably point at Gia, once she was captured, and say she acted out against humans purely because she was an alien.

She stared back up at the screen as the haunting images of the crime scene went live, uncensored and in full effect, pitting the population of humans and non-humans against each other. The bodies of the assassin, One Thumb, Fireneck, and Libermann went away replaced by brush strokes of blood still streaked the polished pavement, all surrounded by yellow tags with numbers on them. Gia never watched too many crime scene shows, so she did not understand what was going on in its entirety.

"This guy is a moron," stated Dad from behind Gia, who wrapped his arms around Gia's shoulders. It was momentarily comforting until she saw the look on the detective's face.

"What if there was a fifth, unidentified suspect? I have never thought of that angle," whispered Mr. Landford, palming himself in the forehead. "How could we be so stupid?"

"I seriously doubt there was a fifth person," said Gia audaciously.

The news anchor then switched to a conspiracy theory, linking what happened on the Citadel to the shootout in the spaceport.

Gia hated knowing that the smug shit eater on screen was right, and that was the first time Dad and Mom laid eyes on Brian Hilliard, who skulked away from a convenience store captured by a security camera, her uncle covered in what appeared to be blood.

"_Brian Hilliard, the Citadel's most wanted for ten years now, was seen exiting a crime scene where ten humans were killed in the street right in front of King's Bank. It seems he is wounded, possibly targeted by the alien agents who killed the ten men earlier today._" The camera panned up to the location where the ten people were murdered, beheaded—brains spilling from their skulls. It was covered in police tape now, but they showed what it looked like earlier in the day when a pedestrian with an omni-tool captured the shocking footage of a stabbed man doubled over when his head violently detonated into a pink cloud.

"Oh Keelah," sighed Mom. Gia could feel Dad's arm tighten protectively around her shoulders.

He was trembling, and it was contagious.

Gia knew Dad was thinking about Uncle Brian.

The venomous, too much to say news anchor continued: "_We spoke to King's Bank officials, but they are tight lipped, seeing that they must have captured more of what happened on security cameras, but the Citadel Security Special Response agents are asking questions._"

An asari captain was then shown on screen and Dad seemed disturbed by her face and Gia recognized the name as his old boss from the grisly tale he told her earlier. She was the lead of CSSR. Captain Komani recited something along the lines that they cannot disclose information at this time and to back off.

The news camera zoomed to the street while the anchor spoke about King's Bank, and how it was the largest, most successful banking company in the galaxy, their headquarters located on the Citadel. A three pronged jeweled crown was embroidered on the side of the building, but was torn away. The arrogant anchor, his faux smile curdled Gia's blood, announced he had more important news. He tapped his ear, as if he heard something that was shocking to most, but entertaining to his soulless husk.

"_Breaking news just in, C-Sec enforcement agents went to investigate what was described as a bomb detonation in an asari dominated apartment complex close by King's Bank. Reports say it was a biotic explosion, killing C-Sec agent Pira T'Estoni._"

The television suddenly turned off as Dad said, "Why don't we get ready for dinner?"

Gia remembered Pira from both actual memories and from the story Dad told a little bit ago. Mom was physically shaken by the news and sat still, staring into the blank screen from the breakfast bar, both hands in her lap.

"Come on, Gia, let's knock out that salad," said Dad with a force crooked smile, his eyes aged with a patina of anguish.

Luckily for them, Mr. Landford was too mellow from the wine to notice the shift and stir in mood this weakened family just transitioned into.

Dinner was filled with conversation about family, Gia's future in school, the stability the Toshikos still had after going through the divorce, and rocket club that Gia had skipped out on. It was not until Gia finished her nutrient paste that she realized her parents, which she once saw as paranoid and psychotic, were only being cautious. The weapons training, the martial arts, and situation training she went through as a kid was all for something. If it weren't for them—Mom and Dad—she would be dead in that parking garage, or murdered in the hospital after a failed bar fight against Fireneck and One Thumb.

The three of them realized this was the end of their concealment. The last ten years was being blown apart by whatever was going on. They were being hunted yet again.

Dinner finished rather quickly, but Mr. Landford and Dad sat shooting the shit on the futon while Mom stared out the window at the dipping sun. Gia stood next to Mom and laced her fingers within her mother's. It had been years since they shared such intimate physical contact. Mom was shocked at first, then squeezed hard—harder than ever. She, too, was scared of what lay in the future. The two of them leaned their foreheads against the sliding door out to the patio. The sunset was pure and simple with no clouds mottling the sky. The sun, half of a molten coin, peeked out from behind the cityscape in the distance.

The sun was a bloody red, as was the sky.

It reminded Gia of the pockmark in the assassin's head from the bullet.

The sun leaked into the clear sky until it bled out, leaving only dark blue atmosphere, followed by black canvas, scattered with white hot bird-shot patterns of stars billions of light years away.

"Mom," whispered Gia.

"Yes?"

"I'm scared."

"Good," whispered Mom, poking Gia's forehead. "If you weren't, I'd either call you a liar or a fool."

"Gia, what classes are you taking in school?" asked Mr. Landford. Gia turned around and saw him with an arm on her backpack.

_ The gun._

Dad's eyes went wide, Gia's even wider.

"Well," started Gia, slowly creeping towards the futon to sit down beside him. "Stuff. All easy as pie."

"Here, let me move this," said Landford, propping her backpack onto his lap.

Gia could see a red light percolating through the fabric of her pack. The gun was open and ready to fire, safety flicked off.

"Drafting, Physics III, Galactic Cuisine, Calculus IV, and some stupid history class," she said, eyes drawn to her pack.

Gia gave her father a _Dad, what do I do? _look.

His face told her to _get it the hell back. _

"I actually have fragile rocket fins in my backpack," she lied, laughing nervously. "Balsa wood, you know? Can I have my pack before you crush them?"

"Rocket stuff, eh? Sounds cool," said the detective, loose and feeling funny.

He gently unzipped the backpack and Gia closed her eyes, cursing to herself that she should have moved the incriminating evidence beforehand.

_ Keelah, you are stupid! _

Gia's heart was throwing itself against her chest and she feared the detective would be able to hear it.

"Would you like some more wine?" shouted Dad, standing from his chair. He startled everyone in the room with his outburst of generosity. Mango hissed at Dad, then pulled a leg up into his skirt of feathers.

"Nah, I'm good," said Landford, reaching into Gia's backpack.

Mom had no clue what was going on.

Gia was on the edge of the futon, thinking a kilometer a minute. There was both a chisel and gun in there.

"What in the _hell _is this?" yelled the detective, his face shocked, elbow deep in Gia's stuff.

"I-I can explain, Mr. Landford," said Gia, the heaviest, most gut wrenching dread tugging on her entrails.

"_Woah_, look at this sucker! I haven't seen a textbook like this in _decades_! Man, since everything has gone digital... wow, this is good stuff, Gia," laughed the detective while fingering through the hard backed book Mr. Burns assigned his class.

Dad plopped back down on his seat and Gia sighed, grabbing the backpack from Mr. Landford.

"I should start on my homework."

"You don't have school tomorrow, Gia," said Landford, concerned and serious. "It's the weekend."

Gia and Mr. Landford stared at each other for a minute.

He was on to something.

"I'm just dickin' with you!" he said, slapping her hard on the shoulder. "Well, I should leave now. I think I have outstayed my welcome," said the detective, staggering to his feet. "Are you working tomorrow?" Landford asked Gia.

"Yes, Detective."

"Leave extra-early, because it could be a zoo, or a post-apocalyptic, nuked out landscape tomorrow. I am sure this won't stop people from flyin' but you never know, it could be abandoned tomorrow. See you later, kiddo."

"Tell everyone in the family I said hello," said Gia as the detective grabbed his gun and opened the door to leave.

He saluted her, whistled to Mango, and Dad shut the door. It was not long before Mom exploded with the anticipation she had been squelching for the last two hours.

"Toby, what is going on?" asked Mom, her voice striking fear in the pit of Gia's stomach.

"I think we all need to sit down and talk. I have some explaining to do," said Dad, leading them to the den. Dad positioned the two of them on the futon and dragged in a kitchen chair, facing them from over the teak coffee table.

"Let's clear this up, okay? We just saw Brian on the news, right?"

Gia nodded her head, too ashamed to tell Dad that she saw him earlier. She just… did not know how to break it to him. It was probably for the best that she did not say anything.

"And now Pira is dead?" asked Mom.

"Christ…" muttered Dad, brushing his entire face with both hands.

Gia noticed his fingernails were long and unkempt.

"Okay, Nash, I have to tell you something," said Dad, pushing a lock of dry hair from his face.

Mom crossed both arms over her chest and leaned in, clearly enraged, yet terrified.

"I am a Dreamcatcher agent and this evening I learned that Gia is one as well."

"What's a Dreamcatcher?" asked Mom, head tilted inquisitively.

"I... _we _are part of a government agency that tells the future through dreams, be it riddles or images."

"Toby, that's it—I've had enough, you _bosh'tet_! Do you think _I _am an idiot?" she yelled, standing up. Her voice was similar to the screams Gia heard four years ago. It made her sick and she wanted to throw up.

"I am out of here, Toby. You are intolerable with your jokes! I have had it up to _here _with you, and why are you kidding about this when you just saw Brian on the news and reports that Pira, your friend and co-worker, has been _keeled_? Do you know what that means? Skave. Skave is back and will be coming for us! Gia, come with me. We are going to the police."

"Nash! I am _not _kidding!" yelled Dad, now standing.

"Look at you, Toby. You have lost your mind. You look like a homeless person back on the Citadel. Remember them? Remember how you promised me after we committed to each other how we would never end up like them—how you would always look after us and support my baby, Gia? Do you even know what has been happening in your daughter's life, or does she just _hate _you too much to tell?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Dad, his voice a pathetic whimper.

"Your daughter is suspended from school after getting into a fight with Laura, and has been sexually assaulted by Dr. Jeff. But oh, she never told you that? I wonder why, Toby?"

Gia could see her mom fuming behind the mask, snorting and exhaling fire. Gia now knew where she got her fiery temper from.

"You promised, Toby," said Mom in the most condescending tone. It physically hurt Dad—weighed on his shoulders tearing him closer to the ground.

"Gia, Dr. Jeff abused you?" he asked.

Gia was too scared to speak.

"And now you are _joking _about being a prophet! How _dare _you, Toby Heiko, how dare you! Gia, come, we're leaving this _fucking _place," shouted Nashira in sharp breaths, hand extended and whipping through the air.

"No, I'm not leaving," whispered Gia.

"You _what_?"

"Toby… _Dad _is right, it's just… I don't know how to prove it to you, Mom."

Mom slowly turned around, her hooded head subtly moving from side to side, a mesmerizing effect like that of a cobra ready to strike—ready to spit venom from her mouth.

"You are both playing this prank on me?"

"Nash," sputtered Dad, "Remember ten years ago, two days before Gia was kidnapped, I had the dream about Rena and I told you whenever I had that dream, something bad happened right after, remember?"

Mom was silent, as was Gia. She just found out about Dad's prior love.

"Right before Gia got the infection when she was little, I had the _same _exact dream. I told you this and I damn well know you remember."

"I told you something bad was going to happen after the first nightmare and look what happened. Gia got kidnapped and I was hunted by a Spectre. We almost died ten years ago and now, they are after us again."

Gia swung her orange hooded head to face Mom and analyzed her with scrutinous eyes.

"Mom, believe us," Gia pleaded.

Mom's demeanor shifted, her cobra-like head lowering and her shoulders relaxing. It was as if the truth incessantly pounded her, persuaded her to believe what was happening. Her eyes transformed from white hot disks to a diffused argent glow, the stoked fire inside cooling into cinders.

"What if you're right?" asked Mom.

"Then we are in big trouble. _If _Skave is coming after us, then we are in bigger trouble."

"Is the Hunter not coming for us?" asked Mom, approaching Dad.

Gia listened and observed, hungry for what was going on—craving more back-story.

"I knew Doctor Libermann on a personal level—I not only worked with him, he was my friend. He was the co-leader of the Dreamcatcher Agency, along with his wife, Julia."

"Co-leader?" asked Gia. "You mean, he was not at the top?"

"No, I don't know who is. For all I know, the top dog is dead. I've never met him."

"Dad?"

"Yes, Gia?"

"I participated in the shootout at Milgrom Intergalactic. I killed the blonde Cerberus assassin. That gun I had was hers and I met Dr. Liebermann—saw him die," said Gia.

Both of them glared at her with a moony madness.

"Well, I felt it was time to share that small bit of information with you all," said Gia, pulling out the weapon she killed the Cerberus agent with and _clomped_ it onto the teak coffee table.

"I thought you were at school?" asked Mom and Dad.

"I lied, tried covering my tracks."

"Whose gun is that?" asked Mom, jabbing her finger relentlessly at the piece of machinery Gia held onto. "What's going on?"

Dad visibly shook and heaved himself into his chair. His mouth opened and dangled loosely. The fear that he had on his face melted away to a blank expression that was way more haunting than anything she had seen. Dad grabbed a pillow from the futon, and screamed into it. Mom sat next to Gia and compassionately placed a hand on her daughter's knobby knee. Without permission, Gia demurely told them everything that happened in detail while her parents absorbed the situation they were in.

"This turian with the synthetic arm, Gia, did he have a red, robotic eye?" asked Dad.

"No, but he was capable and spared my life for reasons unknown to me."

Dad hugged the turquoise decorative pillow and rocked in his chair, thinking. It had been four years since anything severely traumatic had happened to him and Mom. They were clearly shook up and rusty in dealing with chaos. It was eating them alive, tearing them to pieces bit by bit. Their citadel of safety was being battering rammed and the attackers were scaling the walls, weapons poised for a killing blow.

"Spiders," said Dad.

"What?" asked Mom and Gia.

Dad howled at the ceiling, laughing maniacally, startling Gia. It made her uneasy to see Dad mentally collapse into himself like a dying star that had begun creating iron in its core. He was going to explode very soon.

He was such a gregarious and sane person—likable and strong, but this laughter struck Gia with an acute sense of grief and apprehension.

"Spiders they call them. I thought they were rumors to spook us Dreamcatchers into not releasing any vital information to enemies—scare us out of betrayal," said Dad, wiping his eyes. "Spiders are the Dreamcatcher's insurance in case we saw something we were not supposed to see. If we see, say the human government declaring war on an innocent race, they would want to hide it, yes? Element of surprise. Well Gia, we saw something that is so _vitally_ important to the human government that they are systematically killing all of us to keep it secret. The dream, Gia. Something is important about it," said Toby, clenching the pillow to his chest.

"Do you know what it is?" asked Mom, her voice showing warmth and consideration to Dad.

"Absolutely not."

Gia was hoping that Dad knew what the numbers, the riddle, the eggs, and the lake meant, but no, they were both blind. She began to feel nauseous yet again.

"It isn't Skave that's after us, but Spiders," he repeated.

"That is a good thing, right?" asked Mom holding an impassive bead to Dad's eyes. "I mean, Skave is the biggest, maddest predator in the sea, right?"

Dad chuckled and said, "From the rumors I have heard, the Spiders are just as bad as Skave, if not worse."

"Oh, Keelah."

"And if there are more than one coming after us, I just... don't know. Gia, what exactly did Harris say to you before he... you know, passed away?" asked Dad.

"He said you and I needed to solve this dream."

"Shit, so not even _he_ knew what it was about."

"What does that mean?" asked Gia, her voice tapering to a low hum.

"It means we are going to have to figure out what it means," he said, closing his eyes. "Gia?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember making model spaceships back in the good old days without manuals?"

"Without the help of Mom, we would have never gotten through that," said Gia, squeezing her hand.

"There has to be another way," said Mom. "Toby, don't we have a contingency plan? A way out if we were discovered? I mean, can't we just disappear? We have the money to do so."

"Nash, it doesn't work that way. The Spiders, they penetrate your thoughts—your dreams, and hunt you down. They are relentless, calculating, efficient, and always win."

"We have to go on the offensive," said Gia.

"No, we run, Gia," said Dad dead seriously. "We have run before and it has worked."

"No, it delays the inevitable!"

"We cannot win against these people, Gia!" yelled Dad. "They will kill us, don't you see? We've been running for ten years and we have survived. Skave has not found us and he is the one that has unlimited resources to do so and look at us, we have not been found."

Their reckless abandonment of sanity was blazing through their tarnished surface, revealing their true nature of flippancy and insanity. Running won't work.

"Ten years ago, we were chased and hunted," Dad said, standing, "I tried to go on the offensive and I got a friend killed, a goddamn girl a little older than you, Gia. You remind me of her. I cannot see you get killed by a bullet in some dirty alleyway by a trained killer. We barely escaped and that was four against one, two of us some of the deadliest soldiers in the galaxy."

"This is an effectual way of going about this," said Gia. "Either way, we are dead. If we run, sure we might live, but who knows when some creep will slip into our house, put a pillow over our faces and blow us away? And me, I am going to jail soon. In jail, I won't last, be it an infection or getting gang-banged by five people with plastic shanks made from cafeteria tray chips. Today, I killed an assassin when I started out unarmed, Dad. We can do this," said Gia, gripping Dad's shoulder.

Gia breathed in and frowned. A strange air of aggressiveness and adrenaline rippled through her veins. How bad could these Spiders be? Dad was an N7 operative, Mom is capable of holding her own, and well she, Gia Toshiko—Gia _Heiko_, had been through some of the toughest shit life could throw at a person her age. She had military training, had killed a goddamn assassin, and survived through today. Gia stood with her father, and looking up at him, and gave Dad a critical, callous look.

"You remind me of your mother, Gia. You are tough as nails, strong, and stubborn," said Dad, grabbing both her shoulders reassuringly. Gia stared at Mom and could taste blood from her lip. She chewed on it, reopening the wound, lightning flashing in quick succession as pain jabbed at her brain telling her to stop gnawing. The pistol in her hand was heavy but comforting. Everything in her life had amounted to this very moment—this choice she had to make. A weak Gia had been poking through this past hour, but she had to bring out the old Gia, the one steered by the Devil—the one whose desultory consolation had proven reckless but rocksteady in her survival.

"It's only a matter of time before the detective finds out what I have done," started Gia, "so we need to figure out this dream before I am put behind bars."

"Our past will shine through as well," said Mom. "Soon, we are going to be apprehended. Gia, I am with you whole way. We must go on the offensive."

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"You have to make some sort of peace between Dad if we are to make it out alive," said Gia. "Hate him all you want, but you have to trust him."

Mom looked at Dad whose once powerful frame had shrunk to that of a shriveled and battered man with nothing left to live for, but Mom just _staring _at him made him walk a little taller.

"Nash, how can you do this? Attacking is going to get us killed." His brow furrowed. "I am the father of this family and you listen to me! We are not going to do this. We run. End of story."

"Dad."

"Gia, no."

"Toby," said Mom, taking massive strides towards Dad. "We have the element of surprise. They will not expect us to be attacking them, they will expect us to run like we have in the past. Gia is right, if we run, we die. If we stand our ground, we have a better chance for survival. Toby, it's time to stop being a _coward_."

The last word hit Dad right in the gut, and continued to hit him while he was down. His eyes reddened and watered, lower lip quivering with either guilt, embarrassment, shame, or rage—Gia could not distinguish.

"Say _yes_, Toby," she said, her voice able to etch titanium.

Dad did nothing.

"Where is the man I used to love? I want him back for this."

"Okay."

"That is the smartest thing I have heard you say in a while," said Mom, fists on her hips.

With great strides, Gia approached the pizza box that had the numbers on it and brought it back to the coffee table.

"Mom, we are going to need your help."

Gia and Dad explained the dream to her in detail. Everything was mentioned: the two sunrises, the lake, which Gia explained was already solved via the blue street in front of King's Bank, the basket with three jeweled eggs, the riddle of _Humpty Dumpty, _the numbers, and the warm sensation the dream brought. Everything was covered. Dad explained that all the Dreamcatchers must have had the same dream to Mom and she understood.

"Most dreams we have are easier and more straightforward than this," said Dad.

He ran to his bedroom and recovered a notebook with notes from the dream scribbled over the pages.

"This is a dream journal. I write everything down in it that I can remember. This dream started a week ago, right? But it only came in small bits, like the warm feeling and the numbers. Only until the other day did the whole thing come together," said Dad, sitting between Mom and Gia.

"All of this—all of these pages are of your dreams?" asked Mom.

"Yeah."

"Does all of this work? I mean, deciphering dreams and inputting your findings into real-life situations, does that work?" asked Mom.

"Sure it does. I've saved numerous lives."

Mom sighed, impressed with Dad.

"Your employers, they work for the human government?" she persisted.

"Yes."

"So they must know who you really are—your real name and history."

"They do, but I am rare with my ability, one in ten in the galaxy, Gia not included, so I am an exception. A person who has committed treason, murder, and countless other charges works for the blackest agency in the human government. Pretty messed up, right?"

"Totally," said Gia. "But they believe your story, don't they?" she asked about what happened on the Citadel ten years ago.

"Harris did." Toby stooped, but regained his posture when he said: "The numbers don't match up as any addresses, phone numbers, social security numbers, no dates, and no corresponding letters in the lullaby. I am clueless."

Mom grabbed the pizza box from Dad.

"One, three digit number, and three, two digit numbers... why is it inconsistent? I mean, shouldn't there be four, two digit sets?"

"Yes, no, maybe? The numbers might come to us later. Here, I drew what the basket of eggs look like in my dream," said Dad. He tore out a piece of paper with a rough sketch on it.

"That is exactly what I saw, too," said Gia.

It truly was creepy.

The basket had low walls, maybe an inch or so high and the three eggs, encrusted with jewels, were evenly spread out. One leaning against the right and left sides of the basket with one in the center.

"This is obviously linked with the _Humpty Dumpty _riddle." Dad shot a glance to Mom. "Nash, do you remember the lyrics? You used to sing it all the time to Gia."

Mom nodded.

"Well..."

"Well what, Gia?"

"Sing it for us."

Mom shook her head and sung, just like she did when Gia was a child on the Citadel. Mom's singing voice had not changed one single bit over the past years. A smile forced its way onto Gia's bloody lips, puckered by raw nostalgia. Mom had a rougher, deeper voice when she talked, but when she sung, it was as if her throat was coated in honey, each note sweet to the ear.

"_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,_

_Humpty Dumpty had a great fall._

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put Humpty together again."_

"You used to love that as a child, honey," said Dad with a smile.

"Yeah, sure, but what does it mean?"

Mom and Dad shrugged.

"I know for one thing, I think Humpty Dumpty stands for the men that had their heads blown off today. I saw the way their brains were splattered on the street—could that explain the egg yolks? Also, the street they were on near that bank, it was blue, maybe that explains the blue lake in the dream as well."

Dad was smiling like an idiot.

"What?" asked Gia. "What do you have to smile about?"

"You're good at this. Where were you when we needed you?"

"Behind a stove, probably. Yeah, whatever, does what I said make sense?"

Mom said, "Yes, but in the big scheme of things, no. What is the subject—the main point of the dream? What is so important in that head of yours?" she asked, poking Gia on the forehead.

"Trust me, you don't want to know," laughed Gia. "This still doesn't add up."

Dad turned back on the television and the same news anchor with the orange tan, white teeth, and groomed hair talked into the camera.

"Keelah, does that man ever sleep?" spat Mom, disgusted with him.

"_He was spotted again at the point of the explosion in the asari apartments. Brian Hilliard could be seen exiting the building earlier today._"

"There he is!" shouted Dad, standing from his seat.

Gia perked up and tore her prying eyes away from Dad's notepad. From a security camera, Uncle Brian lumbered out of the apartment, face red as a cherry, the rest of him powdered white in something.

"_Reports are saying he is solely responsible for the ten murders at King's Bank today and for the murder of the C-Sec agent at her home this evening. Authorities are speculating this is an alien inside deal and they are using him as an agent to disrupt and distract from the alien's plan._"

"That bosh'tet has some nerve!" yelled Mom.

"_This is the last we have seen of the mystery man. His objectives and/or orders he is following are unclear, but something big is up._"

"Keelah, I hope he makes it out," whispered Mom. "He saved our lives, Gia. Pira saved our lives, too, and now one is dead. Brian is... well, I don't know."

"I remember both of them," said Gia, closing Dad's dream book. She laughed and looked to her feet. "I remember Uncle Brian giving me spaceship rides around the old apartment. I remember him handcuffing me to the kitchen table and arresting me."

Dad chuckled and said, "He would strap the handcuffs around your ankle since your hands were so small they would slip out. He's a good man. Whatever he's going through down there, I hope he makes it out alive."

The Heiko family's faces flashed with updates from the news late into the night. Gia's hand gripped Dad's fiercely as the hours continued to fly past. For tomorrow, they had a plan. Gia wasn't much for it, but it was the most solid sounding one anyone had come up with. Detective Landford's appearance made sense. He stopped by often to check on his "clients" and to have dinner with them to see how their chemistry was developing or destabilizing.

Mom flipped the channel to one of the few educational ones broadcasting nowadays as Dad grumbled a snore. Bekenstein was enthralled by regurgitated reality shows where stupid people engage in public displays to entertain more stupid people. An older man with a somber, slow voice whispered through the seven speakers set around the room.

Dad was passed out on his chair, mouth slung open, spittle dribbling onto his white shirt with an ugly, yellow woven blanket tossed over his legs.

The man on the vids talked about three-dimensional printers and how effective they are at building houses, organs, and even on building a functioning brain for a pig named Dave.

"It's interesting," whispered Mom, the dim light from the television outlining her figure on the futon.

Gia inhaled sleepily and pulled both bony knees under her chin on the futon. "What's interesting?"

"Building a brain. I mean, how are they going to do that?"

"Well, we did that hundreds of years ago with the geth."

Mom yawned and pulled her legs off the ground and tucked them under her chin like Gia. "I would have thought building a brain organically would cross the line with laws. Isn't that similar to making an A.I?"

"A.I. _Artificial_ Intelligence, Mom." Gia whispered.

"Artificial means anything built by a person. Would that definition count an organic self aware brain?"

Gia grabbed a folded blanket from under the coffee table and hugged it.

"I don't know."

Mom stared at the television, possessed by the pixels and soothing, velvety voice of the narrator. Gia reached over to the coffee table and snagged Dad's dream book. The light from the television and the city fought off the total darkness that attempted to encapsulate the room. Last night, at this time, Gia was somewhere in that glowing, throbbing city in a bar with a bunch of suits drinking down her paycheck. Her glowing eyes drifted away from her past life and onto the pages of Dad's dream book.

It was much like a journal. Inside the book, black felt tipped marker marred the pages, bleeding into the subsequent pages. His handwriting was neat, but his order and train of thought showed chaos. There were pictures of the baskets of eggs with bullet points of what it could be. _Humpty Dumpty _was written out and Gia could see where he tried matching the numbers with words, letters, syllables, and lines.

Nothing out of the ordinary came up.

How in the hell were they supposed to figure this out?

Gia turned the page and a face traced in thick black lines stared back at Gia. It's smile forced Gia to do the same—the way the lips curved, the dimples in the cheeks and the sunny eyes shined exuberance and love.

Gia peered to her mother who stared at the holographic television, resting her chin on both knees. Gia tried to stare past the mask and picture this face behind the blue veil.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Gia?"

"Is this you?" asked Nashira's daughter.

Gia flipped the dream journal to Mom and tapped on the page. Gia noticed Mom's reaction and immediately got the answer _yes _from her wide eyes and square shoulders. Gia flipped the journal so she could stare at it with greedy eyes.

"Dad dreams about you, Mom. He dreams not of what you look like now, but what _you _look like."

Gia peeked over the journal's hard backed cover and watched as Mom gave Dad a quick look of affection.

She knew it. There was still something left in Mom—an ember of love amongst the pile of cold, dead cinders.

"You're beautiful, Mom."

Gia admired her long, black hair and happy eyes—her lips and smile, even the freckles under both eyes and on her nose.

"He still loves you, even after what you have said to him—after what you have done to him, Mom. Isn't that something that you can admire?" asked Gia.

"He is persistent," hissed Mom.

Gia rested her head on the turquoise pillow and pushed her short legs into Mom's lap. Even though blankets were useless for a quarian, Gia had been raised by a human and his traits had rubbed off onto her; she could not go to sleep without one. It was one thing in this relentless world that offered her comfort with no demands in return. It loved her unconditionally and comforted her through sleep and through dreams, both harrowing, terrifying, and wonderful. Mango shifted on his perch and purred.

"_Goodnight Gi-Gi, my Gi-Gi."_

Gia clicked back and sighed, preparing herself for the day ahead. The moon from outside was full and took up a large portion of the sky. As a kid growing up in Milgrom, Gia had a front row seat to the moon every night and Dad would sing a Sinatra song about the moon on occasion. It dipped behind the glow of the city, much like Dad would dip his vanilla cookies into a glass of warm milk while putting her to sleep into Gia's spaceship shaped bed in the city.

"Everything will be different after tomorrow," said Gia as she took one last undeserving peek at Mom's sketch before closing the journal. "He's a good dad," whispered Gia, glancing at his sleeping carcass mummified under a blanket and overflowing cushions of his stuffed chair.

Gia closed her eyes, then opened them after a minute or so when she felt Mom's grip on Gia's little foot go limp. The moon speckled the white in Dad's eye and a forced smile broke over his lips as he tried to fake being asleep.

A gun was tight in his fist.

**Milgrom Central High School, Bekenstein**

The flight from the Citadel to Bekenstein had been swift and easy for Walter Spinnaker. First class made everything easier to stomach and his nap in those extraordinary chairs had been deep and rewarding. It was the first time he got to sleep as a free man, but he was careful to not fall into REM sleep. The parking lot of the school was empty, save two vehicles—one a sexy red sports car and the other a cute, pink box.

Perfect.

He remembered seeing them in a dream and until now, he was able to match them with two important people he was exited to meet. The moonlight cast long, spindly dark shadows, like twisted rod iron across the tarmac of the parking lot. His hard soled shoes _clattering _with his long, sumptuously powerful strides. The front door of the school was left unlocked. It hissed as Walter pulled on the steel handle and he captured a glimpse of his reflection in the glass door. He looked _immaculate _after killing Pira T'Estoni.

The air conditioning had come to a low trickle, venting moderately cool air into the cavernous main hall of the school. It was in the name of saving power since it was the weekend. Three quarters of the ceiling lights were blanketed in darkness, reminding him of the childhood church he used to attend after school in the middle of the week and on Sundays. It was always dark when they were let out, unless it was the summer. In Paris, it does not get dark until very late in the heated months.

He traveled these very halls in REM sleep twice before and knew with predatory accuracy where he was supposed to go.

Canvas paintings lined the front of the art department and Walter was shocked to see how talented the kids were at this school. The artistic creativity forced him to pause and stare at the oil paintings.

"Wow," he whispered.

Next to the paintings was the school's trophy case that spanned an entire hallway. Most of them were sports, but on the end, there was one shaped differently. It had a fuselage, a nose cone, and fins—ah yes, of course, a rocket.

"First place, eh? Number one on the planet. Impressive."

Walter's eyes squinted when he picked out an orange clothed quarian holding the actual award winning rocket in a photograph.

"Gia Heiko, we finally meet," he said, voice airy and friendly. She stood in the middle of the rocket team, while the rest of her squad squatted on one knee, all of them smiling on a green field. "So you like rockets, Gia?"

He was impressed, to say the least. She was a smart kid and a leader, traits that Walter could respect.

Respecting one's enemy when facing them is important—if Walter shows no respect, he will not have the upper hand, his hubris would show through and that would be the end. He respects Gia's father since he is a trained killer. Walter had read the military's required reading of Sun Tzu's _The Art of War. _He was no fool.

Walter found himself at the counselor's office and honed in on a heavy oak door glowing in the darkness. Amber light slipping from under the door resembled a shallow welcome mat laid out as an invitation for Walter. He lightly knocked on the door and then opened it. A startled, disgruntled man and a blond teenager with a bandage on her face spun in their chairs.

"I am oh so very sorry to startle you at this time of night, Dr. Jeff," said Walter in the kindest, most innocent demeanor he was able to manage.

"Who are you? Are you with the police?" asked the doctor.

"Oh, I am sorry," apologized Walter, closing the door behind him. "I am Walter Spinnaker. I am with the human government." Walter aimed his narrow face towards the teenager. "And you are?" he asked. She was in his dream as well, but a name never came to mind. She was not important enough.

"L-Laura," she stuttered.

"Is there a problem? How did you get in here? Why are you here? How did you know I was here?" asked Dr. Jeff, his oily face slick with questions as he knotted his tie hurriedly. "I am sorry for my appearance, but I was not expecting a government official at this time of night."

"You may call me Mr. Spinnaker, Dr. Jeff," said Walter, extending an hand towards the school counselor who stood.

"Why are you here?" asked Dr. Jeff, visibly shaken. "Are you here… for _me_?"

Walter smiled and cocked his head: "Why would I be here for you?"

"Oh, well I am not sure."

Walter turned to the girl in the chair. "Mr. Spinnaker," said Walter to Laura. "What happened to your face?"

"Plastic surgery," said Laura.

"Ah. Now, may I have a seat?" asked Walter, four fingers aimed towards the open seat next to Laura.

"Sure."

"Thank you, Dr. Jeff. Again, I apologize for the unscheduled interruption." Walter pulled out a bottle of wine from a bag. "I anticipated it and brought a gift we can talk over. A nice 2165 tawny port from Eden Prime and three goblets. Laura, are you eighteen years old?" asked Walter.

"Yes," she shyly said.

"Good, so you can join us in a drink? I am not pushing alcohol on you, but you may accept my offer."

"Okay."

"Great!" exclaimed Walter, popped the cork, and poured a couple finger's worth of port into plastic cups he had taken from the plane.

"Walter—"

Spinnaker interrupted Dr. Jeff mid-pour: "It's Mr. Spinnaker."

"Mr. Spinnaker, what are you doing here?"

Walter stared into the man's face and saw nothing but emptiness and a filthy conscious behind those beady, sunken in eyes. He had no pride, only self preservation and greed.

"I want to talk about Miss Heiko."

"Who?" he asked.

Walter offered the two of them wine, but Dr. Jeff waited for Mr. Spinnaker to drink it first. He did not blame his suspicion.

Walter sipped the port and asked, "Gia Heiko."

"We have a Gia here, but she does not go by the last name _Heiko_."

"Gia Heiko, she is a quarian, yes?"

"Correct," said Dr. Jeff.

"What is her last name then?"

"It's _Toshiko_." His eyes trembled in their sockets. "Is your visit about what happened today? Did she rat me out?"

"I do not know what you are referring to."

Laura's cup fluttered as well as the doctor's, giving Walter the sign that something had happened earlier today that he did not know about—something against the law.

"Listen, whatever happened today with her is none of my business. I do not care what you two did and is not the reason of my visit. I am here for information. I want to know everything about Gia _Toshiko_. You are her counselor, her mentor and guidance."

"How do you know this?" asked Laura, stealing the words out of Dr. Jeff's blue lips.

Walter ignored the question and said: "Please, don't interrupt me when I am speaking. I want to know who her friends are, how she thinks, everything about her family members, details on her father, scrupulous facts on everything you can remember. I want to know where she works and where she lives."

"Where she lives?" asked Dr. Jeff, sipping the wine. "What's this all about?"

Walter sensed hatred in Dr. Jeff's voice and a protective aura over Laura. He was mad about something that he was not before. When he brought up Gia's name, his voice had changed to anger and dread. The way Laura looked at Dr. Jeff was unlike a student/teacher relationship, it was much deeper than that. Walter noticed a smudge of lipstick on the corner of Dr. Jeff's mouth, the same shade of pink that was on Laura's lips. Golden strands of hair were plastered to Dr. Jeff's blue shirt as if he had been holding Laura's head as she cried into his shoulder. There were two wet spots on his clavicle. It was stained black. Mascara. The outline of Laura's eyes were dark and smudged. When Walter entered the room, Dr. Jeff struggled to get his tie back on blocking three bruise marks on his neck.

Three bruises.

Three fingers.

A quarian hand.

Somebody had found out about this romantic student/teacher involvement.

Possibly.

No.

Something else was going on and Gia was holding information that could get the police or even the government involved. He asked if Walter was part of law enforcement. Dr. Jeff has had intimate contact with Gia for the past years.

Intimate.

Above Dr. Jeff's head was a doctoral certificate and license to practice in clinical psychology. Below that was a masters in xenocommunication. He is a xenophiliac and must have sexually assaulted Gia earlier today. Gia could blackmail him with this information and ruin his life and career. Walter smiled and offered the doctor more port.

"Yes, I want to know where she lives," smiled Walter.

"Why, exactly?"

"I am going to save your career," said Walter.

"What are you talking about?" asked Dr. Jeff.

"You know what I am talking about. You know _exactly_ what I am talking about."

"What are you going to do to her?"

"Kill her," smiled Walter.

Dr. Jeff leaned forward and shot a look of caution, suspicion, and relief towards Laura. Walter pressed a long finger into Dr. Jeff's desk.

"I want to know everything about her. _Everything._"

Walter leaned into his seat, threw a leg over a knee, and smiled at the doctor from behind his tawny port.

"Okay, I will tell you everything if you tell me what she has done to deserve to die."

To get the most accurate information, Walter had to tell the truth and gain this man's trust, for his own life hangs on the words about to flow from his small mouth.

"Gia has information that can prevent something wonderful from happening. The government needs her dead and I am the one to dispatch that order."

The doctor nodded and spilled everything that he knew about Gia: her personality, her mother, her father, where they work, her friend Norry, and what happened four years ago that created a fissure in the family and why the police and a high school counselor were keeping a close eye on her.

Walter poured both Laura and Dr. Jeff four more fingers of port.

"I appreciate your honesty and I will pledge to never speak your names when this is all over. Both of you will be ghosts, I swear to you," said Walter smiling. "Cheers."

Laura and her significant other both sighed with relief and an honest smile creased their faces as they held up their glasses of fine wine.

"To a better future," said Walter. They both repeated him and drank the wine, their eyes closed, savoring the sweet, full bodied port. Walter set his cup on the table and reached into the gift bag, brandishing a pistol with blinding speed. The tip of the barrel roared and flickered to life as he put two in the chest and one right through the plastic cup Dr. Jeff was drinking. Wine and blood freckled the wall behind his head while Laura dropped her drink and screamed. Walter dispatched the heinous teenager with three bullets, the gun's _bark _shouting over the siren in her throat.

Walter holstered his weapon and stared down at Laura. Her blue eyes were taken over by large pupils and she grumbled something, but Walter concluded it was agonal respiration rather than a prayer. The fingernail sized hole below her right eye was clean and pink while the back of her head stained the carpet. Dr. Jeff's doctorate was dabbled in red, while the front of his blue and white dress shirt soaked up the port.

"Laura my dear, you spilled your port on my shoes," sighed Walter. Both were vile human beings and deserved what they got. They abused Gia and Walter noticed first hand that Gia had the potential to imprison two people, knew how to blackmail, play dirty when need be, and had the ability to carry out terrible acts towards people she did not like.

Walter stepped over Laura's still moving cadaver, post mortem spasms taking control, and opened the door, wiping off his prints with a napkin, taking his wine cup, and bottle.

"I promised you would be ghosts," said Walter.

With more of Gia exposed, the game had become intense—both Dreamcatcher's have vehement behavioral patterns he must heed with caution.

Walter Spinnaker was eager to begin playing with the them at sunrise.


	9. Chapter Eight - 170 BPM

**Remember, there is incredible artwork done by Modsoft on the master-page on the BSN in my blog. To get to that blog, it is on my fanfiction profile page! The writing is only half of the adventure! **

**The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter Eight - 170 BPM**

Gia stiffly walked down the terminal of Milgrom Intergalactic towards work. They had a plan. It was not a solid one and they knew it, but it had to be done. Sometime today they were either going to be gunned down in public or thrown into prison. Gia realized their chances were slim, but she did not accept death as an outcome. She was going to be brought down kicking and screaming, even with a muzzle buried into the back of her head and threats being shouted.

In her backpack she had the weapon the Cerberus assassin wielded yesterday and the chisel she stole from Mr. Burns' workshop. Until this morning, she forgot about the tool she took for self-defense from the cabinet at school.

The blond lady was able to sneak the handgun past security the other day because it contained no metal pieces that would set off the standard full bodied security systems. Gia had a license for her cooking knife, but not for this highly illegal weapon. Earlier, when they woke up after a restless night's sleep, Dad went through the ins and outs of the handgun's workings with his daughter just in case they had to use it.

Gia had the feeling that she would have to as she entered the main food court of the spaceport.

Gia walked past her old friend Bill's place and saw him wiping down the counters with a rag, his black shirt's sleeves rolled back and thick forearms shining in the dark. She avoided eye contact with him and sacked the urge to say goodbye to him. He was a good friend, a surrogate brother that unintentionally showed his altruistic side to Gia in giving her help and sometimes bringing her home after heavy nights of drinking. In his eyes, Gia had a long way to go, was still riddled with immaturity and poor decision making. Gia knew that she had proved to him that she was not hopeless, but he saw through her lack of luster and refinement and knew her future was bright. She just had to be steered back on course.

It would have been if the Spiders were not coming for her.

She had to stick to her plan knowing that two other lives dangled precariously based on her actions. Overnight, she had grown up and would be making decisions rare for people her age. Her heart throbbed and jerked as she passed law enforcement officers, many that she knew on a personal level. The shootout had not coagulated the flow of people. Even though it was now the weekend on Bekenstein, it did not stop off-worlders from coming over and shipping out to one of the many habitable planets. The galaxy is ruthlessly large and does not accept a dam in its flood of activity.

"Hey, Gia."

The voice was familiar and brought an intersection of feelings to a pileup in her chest and stomach.

"Detective Landford, how's it going?" asked Gia, stopping with a hand on her backpack. Landford stood from behind a circular coffee table in the spaceport's dining hall with a notepad in his left hand, a mug of black brew in his right. From under his polyester blazer, Gia noticed his weapon tucked under his left arm, strapped to a bullet resistant vest. Gia knew those vests had kinetic barrier projectors on them, but a lot of the time they are not powered up and were only strong enough to stop handgun powered projectiles. Detectives never wore ceramic armor but did wear fabric vests that could stop a low powered handgun, coupled with the kinetic projectors. He could take two shots, the third puncturing. Landford sipped his coffee and held a finger up to the three other detectives at the table.

"Hey, boys," greeted Gia with a wave.

She knew all of them, sadly enough.

They nodded and hovered over their Styrofoam mugs, letting the steam manicure their unshaven faces.

"Shouldn't you be in the garage where the shootout happened?" asked Gia, wondering why he was up above.

"I'm going to be asking questions this morning and try to nail down what happened."

"Ah, smart."

"Your eggplant dish was killer last night."

Gia flinched and said, "Thanks. It's Dad's old recipe from Philadelphia, a city back on Earth."

"Yeah, I know of it."

"I figured."

"The Italian restaurants here cannot touch your cooking. All their sauce taste like ketchup and oregano salad."

"They probably use pureed or crushed tomatoes which have a nasty taste and texture to them. Notice how the sauce wasn't pasty, but a bit loose? Yeah, whole tomatoes."

"Well great job, Gia."

"Thanks."

"If you don't mind, shoot me an e-mail with that recipe. I'm sure the kids will like it."

"Will do, Mr. Landford."

"Alright, I might be around later for some lunch," said Landford through a yawn and a closed fist. He shivered and said, "And will be asking some questions."

Gia nodded her head, afraid that if she spoke, her voice would quaver. If he asks Chef Athena questions, Gia's alibi would become suspicious. She wanted to throw up her breakfast.

"Okay, talk to you later," said Gia and spun around without waiting for a response from the detective.

Gia muted her microphone and spoke into her helmet, over an encrypted audio channel: "Dad? Can you hear me?"

"Five-by-five, what's up?"

"Landford is in the food court on the main level, away from the terminals."

"Roger that, I won't let him see me."

"Mom, where are you?" asked Gia.

"In my targeted location. I am in the bathroom right outside the 21 Hour Diner. Chef Athena has just arrived and Barney is late as usual. No one saw me. Everything is normal."

"Roger, over and out."

Gia reactivated her microphone and walked to the other end of the spaceport to the food-court near the terminals. If the Spiders came for her here, they would not do anything in front of all of the police. There were at least fifty armed law-enforcement agents here, not including the beefed up security, some of them military with assault rifles and blacked out ceramic armor. Gia counted twenty military personnel at the spaceport with more of them in the parking garage. If Gia was discovered as one of the participants in the shootout, then she would be taken away to jail. Maybe there, she could relay information to the military and figure out what the dream means behind the safety of a jail cell, guarded by armed members of the police. A Spider could surely not touch her there. If the Spider did decide to attack today, he or she would be gunned down. Either way, this was the safest place to be, and the most dangerous. Sitting at home would make the Spider's job easier. Set up in the hills with a high powered rifle and pick them off one by one.

"Hey, Chef," said Gia, walking behind the counter, letting one of the night shift line cooks pass.

"Gia, happy weekend," said Chef, her voice groggy and filled with lung cancer.

"What's wrong, didn't get any sleep? You sound like shit."

"Couldn't sleep," she said, pulling her hair into a bun. "I take it you heard about the shootout?" asked Chef.

Gia gulped and ripped her knife out of its nylon sheathe, concealing her emotional response with physical movement.

"Yeah, I just missed it as I left," Gia lied, scraping the hot-top with a spatula. "Too bad. That would've been cool to see."

A group of customers walked through the door, one of them was her father. He was almost unrecognizable since he cleaned up earlier this morning. He had swiped his beard away with a razor, buzzed his hair, and dressed crisply with a brown leather jacket and jeans. A worn and dirty red Philadelphia Phillies baseball cap was pulled over his head and a novel was tucked under his right arm.

Gia never felt safer.

"Gia, after we get these customers served and there is a slow down, I need to talk to you," said Chef, eying Bernie as he walked in late.

"How does some 20th century music sound to you all?" he asked, swiping his credit chit across the scanner of the jukebox Gia has always found so interesting.

"I'm down," said Gia, avoiding eye contact with her father. "Even though we've listened to every song in that box eight billion-trillion times."

"You're so specific," said Bernie.

"Don't make me throw a frying basket at you."

"Okay, you win."

The Rolling Stones' _Paint It, Black _colored the room and Bernie danced towards Gia while putting on his apron. Ms. Worthing strutted towards Dad and by her body language, she was in a flirtatious mood. Dad would not be amused.

"Come on, Gia, dance with me," giggled Bernie, both arms open, fingers flickering towards his burley chest. He had not a single idea what was going on. A business woman at a booth was amused by his early morning antics, as was Dad, who stared under Ms. Worthing's arms as he placed an order.

"Bernie, we have customers!" shouted Chef as a man sat down at the bar. Chef pushed her sunglasses further on the bridge of her nose, her wrinkles and black, bushy eyebrows furrowed.

"You'll be dancing a tango with the blade of my knife," said Gia, turning her attention to the man who sat at the bar. "You'll have to excuse my co-worker. He has the intelligence of a well trained chimp—what can I get you?" Gia asked, gripping the white marble bar top. The man at the bar sighed and flipped through the menu, carefully reading each item, cautious about what his breakfast was going to be composed of. He was perturbed by the water-spots on the plastic sleeves shielding the paper menu hosting everything from omelets to Chef Athena's famous baklava.

"I know for sure I will start with a coffee—lots of sugar, lots of cream, but instead of half-and-half, could you do whole milk?" asked the well trimmed man. "I will figure out what I would like to eat in a moment."

Gia slapped the counter and said, "Sure thing, buddy," and pointed at him.

"That _handsome_ man in the booth would like a waffle and a side of hot chocolate," whispered Ms. Worthing. Gia couldn't help but notice she had spritzed herself with the perfume that smelled like roses and funerals.

That was never a good thing.

Bernie called it her _seduce juice._

Poor Dad.

With Dad's menu, Ms. Worthing turned to Gia and waved her flush face, eyes wide and mouthing _hot_. Gia groaned and ladled the waffle mix into the hot iron. So far, everything was running smooth and the mood was light—innocent and happy. Bernie was not late for the first time _ever_ and Chef was just as grumpy as ever. The shootout had not disturbed the mood in the spaceport as much as Gia had thought, but the crowds were bound to swell in size as the day went on, more questions were going to be asked, more people would come into the restaurant, and with more people, the higher the chance the Spiders will be here.

"Excuse me, ma'am? I know what I would like to order, or do I ask the waitress?" asked the man at the bar.

"You can tell me, I've got your six."

"Okay," he said and gripped the menu with both his hands and excited gaze. Gia watched his delicate fingers point to the menu items. "Basil and cheese omelet with hash-browns, light on the oil and crispy."

"Okay, anything else?"

"What would you recommend?" he asked, smiling and closing the menu, pinching it like a dirty rag.

"Anything Greek is outstanding, Chef Athena was trained in Greece and a bit in Paris, I think. Her spanakopita is ridiculous."

"Does she make her own phyllo dough or is it the frozen stuff?"

Gia snorted and was proud to mention: "Actually, she makes it herself. It is a dead art, in fact."

The man's glacial eyes went wide with excitement.

"It obviously is not too dead since she knows how to do it."

"Okay, smart ass," chuckled Gia.

The man was offended, but a smile reclaimed the anger.

"I have been to Greece before, you know," said the man. "The best thing I had there was grilled octopus and whole sardines by the Aegean. Wonderful place."

"Man, all I think of when I see octopus are the hanar. _This one does not want to be eaten. This one is in pain. Ow, stop eating this one. This one asks the krogan to stop!_"

The man threw his head back and erupted in the smoothest sounding laugh Gia had ever heard.

"You must know your food. It is not common to see a quarian behind the stove, much less knowing what an octopus is."

Gia smugly added, "I am going to Thessia's culinary school once I get out of high school. I _cannot _wait."

"Wow, that is surely impressive. You must be one of, if not the first quarians to be accepted into the school, no?"

The man leaned forward, genuinely interested in Gia's career. Not many people ask questions about her, so she was more than eager to quench his curiosity.

"I will be the first one," she admitted, throwing a fistful of shredded potatoes onto a lightly oiled hot-top.

"I am sorry if I am a hassle of a customer. A lot of these places slather the potatoes with that fake butter flavored oil. I find it revolting."

"Actually, we use clarified butter here. Chef is picky about her ingredients and it shows in the quality of food, and in the cook, of course," said Gia, polishing two nails on her orange clothes.

"I have a question," whispered the man, leaning into the bar. A finger teased her to draw her in and she complied. "_Why does she wear sunglasses inside?_"

"She is afraid that we will see through her eyes and notice she has no soul," said Gia matter-of-factly.

The man was dumbfounded.

"I'm just kidding," she said, lightly slapping the top of his hand. "I don't know, but that is our best theory."

Outside, the blackness of the early morning was slowly being sucked away by a red whirlpool of bright light. It reminded Gia of the black waters of an ocean and the bleeding of prey that has been caged by the stiletto packed jaws of a shark. Today was going to be a record high, supposedly, and everyone was anticipating the highest alert for heatstroke. The sun drew blood, jabbing at the black sky's fat belly with an intense ferocity, wanting to take over its atmospheric turf.

"What is your name?" asked the man.

"Gia. Gia Toshiko."

The man extended his hand and said, "Hello, Gia Toshiko. My name is Walter."

**Red, Milgrom Intergalactic Spaceport**

Detective Landford was unsure why he had walked into this bar to question people, but something magnetically drew him to it. Was it the subconscious allure to the bottles of alcohol behind the counter, or did his stomach want a nice cold draft beer early in the morning?

That was an idiotic thought.

The detective stood at the entrance to Red and tried to visualize its clientele with his imagination, since almost no one was here. A turian sat at the bar. An off-worlder by the looks of it. They are not common here and only someone with jet lag and a disoriented circadian rhythm ready for bed would visit a place like this and order a drink at this ungodly time of the day.

Landford mulled over what was said yesterday at the Toshiko's about the shootout. Everyone had the idea that all involved in the shootout were down at the garage, and now refrigerated at the morgue. But there must have been another person there.

The two agricultural farmers did not make sense.

The doctor and the assassin did.

He was sure someone else was there and the bar called Red drew his attention. He followed his intuition like a bloodhound follows their nose.

An off-worlder would have visited this place and it must have been an off-worlder that got away. Someone highly trained and evasive to the police.

Landford wanted to hunt them down.

The bartender at Red gave the detective a curious look, then understood why he was here.

"Detective, how are you doin' this morning?" asked the burly bartender, offering the detective a seat with an open hand. "Can I get you anything? I'm sure you are investigating the shootout."

"Military?" asked Landford, grunting as he took a seat, adjusting his sidearm.

"Yes sir. Alliance Marines. The name's Bill," he fired off, extending his hand. The bartender's handshake was strong and confident.

"You can get me one thing," said Landford, taking out his notebook.

"Anything and it's on the house."

"I want answers."

"Ah, I see. Well, I am sure I will be of no help, but I will sure try to be a useful citizen. Ask away."

"You work the night shift?" asked Landford.

"Yes sir. How did you know?"

"You're shifting your weight on your feet like you have been standing for a long time. When does your shift end?"

"In about ten minutes."

"Is," Landford checked the time, "that when you left yesterday?"

"Correct. My schedule is rock solid, the same shift every day," said Bill, not looking away from the detective's eyes.

" Perfect. So, did you see anyone interesting pass by last night or in the morning?"

"No one in particular."

"Any aliens?"

"A few, yes."

"Any military or ex-military? You are a bartender and seem to be sharp, you must know how to visually detect if someone is in a poor relationship, depressed, pissed at their favorite sports team, or has been in the service."

"Yesterday was slow. There were a lot of people arriving since it was the last day before the weekend, but not a lot of people stopping through to get a buzz, sir," said Bill. "So, what's the word on the streets?"

"You're the bartender, you should know," teased Landford biting his pen. "Anyways, four dead and I am suspecting another got away. Also, they seemed to have used some sort of incendiary ammunition. The CSI crew is now scraping up the evidence and I should know exactly what it is. I didn't get a good look at the scene myself, but I did get to look at the bodies."

"Pretty gory?" asked Bill, his face contorted, expecting the worst.

"You don't watch the news too much, do you?"

"No. I work two jobs and try not to listen to that scumbag reporter, you know the one."

"The guy with the radioactive teeth and orange skin?" asked Landford.

"That's the one. He is a racist bastard... excuse my language. What a piece of work," grimaced Bill.

"Do you like aliens?" asked Landford, the questions getting the attention of the drowsy turian to their right.

"Yes sir. They are not very different from us. I wish the goddamn patriots that inhabit this rock thought the same. Prejudice is only skin deep, sir."

"I hear you. Pride gets in the way of progress."

"Are you thinking an alien did this?" asked Bill.

"Not exactly. I am thinking an off-worlder did."

"Jesus…"

They stopped talking for a moment and an awkward silence persisted for about a minute. Landford was busy staring at the collage of celebrities behind Bill's command post who passed through Red's open doors over the years. Everyone from A-list movie stars, athletes, to the popular quarian band Blue Lights, but that was not what fascinated him so much. Right in the center of all these famous people, a familiar orange face popped through the dark images.

Landford pointed at the image and asked, "Is that Gia Toshiko flicking me off?"

Bill turned around and with his cavernous voice, burbled a guttural laugh, "Yeah, that's my girl. Do you know her? Well, you obviously know her name."

"Yeah, I know her."

Bill's caterpillar eyes squirmed together as he asked, "Are you Detective Landford?"

"I take it she has talked about me?"

"Yes, something about you smelling like bacon and snorting like a pig."

Landford laughed.

Bill continued, "She comes by here every so often and gets wasted. I love her to death and hate to see that happen, but I cannot refuse a paying customer alcohol or I will get whacked. It's a damn shame, though."

"Why do you say that?"

"She is such a smart girl and I love her like a brother... or a sister, you know? She is wasting potential and I honestly think she has one of the greatest minds around. Talk about putting jet fuel in lawnmower. I have talked to CEO's of fortune 100 companies, philosophers, and some very influential minds and she is just… _sharper _than them. She has a mind like a whip and a mouth like a shotgun. Say, you are the detective that keeps an eye on Gia and her family after whatever happened four years ago, right?" asked Bill, pushing his thick, hairy forearms into the bar.

"Yes."

"So are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked.

"You really don't want to know." Landford paused, then asked, "How did you start asking _me _questions?"

"Hey, I am curious. Curiosity is a mark of intelligence, you know?"

"That must make you a goddamned genius," Landford laughed. "I am curious about the blood stains on your carpet. They look fresh," said Landford, saving his punch line after he got to know the bartender. It was easier to know if people are hiding something when you get to know them better. Those dribbles of blood were the first thing he noticed as he walked into Red.

"Right, those. That crazy chick flicking us off in the picture behind me got into a fight yesterday morning," said Bill, throwing a thumb behind him.

"Is that why I see a broken bottle in the garbage can behind you?" Landford asked, pointing over the counter.

"Really, he didn't take that out? I swear, my co-workers had the spunk of a paraplegic elcor. But yeah, Gia smashed one of the two guys with that bottle. Cracked him in the head," said Bill fueled pride which burned away when he saw a look on Landford's shiny face. "I see that horrified look in your eyes, but let me clear some things up with you. These two guys were a couple of dumb farmers who were itching to get to Gia. They started it and the security guard on duty at that time… oh, what is his name. Well, it doesn't matter, he is off today and goes home the same time as I, he let it go."

Bill stopped gloating and stared at Landford's steel jaw and fixated cold eyes.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"Those two men you are talking about, how much damage did Gia do to them?"

Alarmed at Landford's harsh tone, Bill slowly said, "Well, if memory serves me, she broke one guy's nose, almost split the other's head wide open, and I think broke one of the guy's ribs."

"Are you sure?" asked Landford, his voice quiet and sinister.

"Yeah, positive. Why the interest?"

"Did they say anything after you guys broke off the fight?"

Bill scratched his chest, the hairs crackling beneath his fingers. "They threatened her, I think. It was all a blur, over in a couple of seconds."

Landford shot out of his chair, opened his datapad, and pushed it towards Bill over the polished counter top.

"Tell me what they looked like," ordered the detective.

"Okay, one was missing a thumb, I remember that, and the other had a red beard, I mean like leprechaun red, full of rainbows and pots o' gold."

"Confirm these victims for me. Are these the people Gia got into a fight with?" asked the detective, pushing the data pad under his flared nose.

"Let me see here."

Landford watched Bill's face, deciphering every scrupulous detail he was able to identify.

"That older man," said Bill, ignoring the two farmers. "He was here as well."

"Here? What do you mean _here_?" hounded Landford hot on a blood trail.

"He was at the bar when the fight went down. As for the two victims you want me to identify, yes, those are them."

Landford shook his head, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.

"What does that mean?" asked Bill, his big voice muted to a wet whimper. "What did she do? What did _Gia_ do?"

Landford closed his eyes and thought about the incendiary mark he saw streaked onto the pavement. CSI had it blocked off, but from what he could see, it looked like a burnt streak into the polished concrete from a stray bullet.

No, it was not that.

It was a single wheeled vehicle.

Burnt rubber.

Frantic getaway.

A motorcycle.

_It was Gia._

**The 21 Hour Diner, Milgrom Intergalactic Spaceport**

"Hello, Walter," said Gia to this man. He was no older than her dad, but seemed to have a lot of money. He was well groomed and his money seemed to have preserved his mid-twenties body. He was one of the most handsome and charismatic people she had met in her horrible, crooked life.

Behind her veil, Gia blushed when he delicately shook her hand. His touch was caring and gentle. Gia, however, crushed his, but his bones seemed to have been made of steel, his muscles titanium cables, and his skin from a baby. He was wonderful to look at, she admitted. If Ms. Worthing was not occupied with Dad, she would be all over this man, but Gia had him to herself.

She liked it that way.

"So, what brings you here?" she asked.

"Business," he said. "You know what?"

"What?" asked Gia, caught up in his eyes, his sharp eyebrows, and tailored suit.

"If I am still hungry, I think I might take you up on a piece of baklava since Chef Athena makes the phyllo dough herself. She uses pistachios, right?"

"Only the best ingredients."

"God, I hate it when they use walnuts. _Yuck! _The honey, is it also special?" asked Walter, leaning closer to Gia.

"Organic honey. Made not ten miles from here."

"There is not a green sticker that just says _organic_ on it, right?" he asked, winking at Gia, holding both her small, tender hands.

"No, I-I mean she has bee people grow it," she stuttered.

"_Bee people_. Right."

"Beekeepers, whatever," said Gia.

"Hey there guys," Bernie called to five burley men who entered the diner. Walter turned around and stared at them, then changed his attention back to Gia. It was an unwavering, special kind of look he gave Gia, like she was the most interesting person in the world to him.

It made her feel not good but _great_.

Dad peered up from behind his mug of hot chocolate at the men who walked through the door. They all wore suits and held a lively conversation about their bonuses that dwarfed Gia's yearly pay.

_Stupid rich people._

Gia's attention turned back to Walter whose smile was boyish and innocent.

"Gia, I think my hash browns are burning," said Walter.

"_Oh shit_!"

She spun around, expecting to see it coughing columns of black smoke, but they happily sizzled away.

"What the hell, man?" exclaimed Gia, baring teeth. Walter's arm snaked across the marble counter top, grabbing Gia's wrist. Perplexed, she yelped out in pain and jerked her arm away, but his vigilance and sheer strength almost made her tear her shoulder out of place. "What the fu—"

A savage glint sparkled from behind his unbuttoned ashen jacket. Gia squinted and stared into the dead, cold eye of a pistol.

Gia whispered, "_You're_ the Spider."

"Smart girl, now tell me, where is your dad?"

His smile persisted as she stared Death right in the face. Behind her, Dad's head raised from behind his novel, his eyes curiously squinting at Gia leaning over the counter. Ms. Worthing stood right in front of his view. Just one more second, and he would have seen what was happening. If she screamed, the Spider would lodge a bullet into her brain.

"He's the man sitting at the table behind me, isn't he?" asked Walter, his voice soothing, oozing with madness, yet slathered with an intense sanity.

"No."

"I saw you look over my shoulder. You were anticipating me, my darling, were you not? You are smarter than I expected. Good girl, you are doing good. _Perfect_."

Gia whimpered loud enough that the five burly men sitting at the bar to her left noticed. All of their heads turned and saw what was happening.

"Not smart enough," said Walter. Gia heard the pistol's safety flick off.

With ferocious speed, one of the black men was behind Walter, a gun pressed to the back of the Spider's head.

Intoxicated with fear, Gia looked to the man who was taking her enemy hostage.

"Who are you?" asked Walter with a vague sense of annoyance. His smile fled and he rolled those sickly beautiful eyes.

"Gia Toshiko?" asked the man pointing the gun to Walter's head.

"Yes?" she nodded to her savior.

Ms. Worthing dropped her coffee pot, but got a life threatening look by one of the five suited men saying _don't scream you bitch_.

One stepped from the counter and closed the door, flipping the _open_ sign to _close_.

Gia watched Dad's face get struck with surprise, anger, and dread all in a flash. He sat still, right hand inside of his jacket pocket.

Gia gave him a _Dad, do something _look.

"We are Shadow Broker agents. Who are you?" asked the man with the gun to Walter's skull, the question aimed at Walter.

The rest of the people in the diner stopped eating as the four other suited men sat next to all of them with pistols pressed into their ribs.

Walter laughed, startling the man.

"You are with the Shadow Broker and you do not know who _I _am? Isn't information your strong suit?" taunted Walter, like this was all an inconvenience.

"We are here for Gia Toshiko. Our boss wants her as a co-worker."

"So the Shadow Broker knows, I take it?" asked Walter, spinning in his stool to face his aggressor.

"_Just shoot him_," hissed Gia to the armed suited man.

Walter smiled and said, "Do it."

The Shadow Broker agent, whatever that was, cocked his head. Behind the counter, Bernie gripped a knife. Dad made eye contact with him and shook his head. Bernie ignored his heed of caution.

On the jukebox, another Rolling Stones song began playing. It was Gia's favorite, _Gimme Shelter._

"Hey, Detective Landford," shouted Gia without thinking, waving at him and his crew of three as they barged into the diner, ignoring the _closed_ sign. "Is it time for interrogations, or do you want some pancakes?" she asked, pulling her hand away from Walter, who let go, his plan falling apart. The strident noise of their police boots slapping the white tiled floor of the diner was intimidating, as was the detective's tense posture. Gia's natural inclination was to offer them a menu, then scream _shoot these bastards,_ or maybe even tease them about donuts, and pour them a pot of Joe, but not this time. She saw a predatory gleam in the whites of the detectives' eyes and swore she saw them salivating, florescent lights silvering a thread of drool.

Walter noticed Gia's sudden flex in mood. He noticed her tense reaction to the police, and he himself straightened, alert and aware, even more so to the pistol digging into his cheek. The suited man was in shock, and was trying to conceal the weapon from view.

"Chef!" barked Detective Landford, his eyes drawing a bead to Gia's forehead. "Gia was at work yesterday morning, right?"

Chef Athena tapped her spatula on the flat-top, on the sink, and then to the marble counter.

"Detective Landford, hello."

"Gia, she worked yesterday and was here for the morning shift, correct me if I am wrong."

Gia's breath was stolen, knocked out and cartoonishly scrambling out of her throat. She wanted to scream for Dad, but failed to. Landford's stare had turned her into stone.

He knew.

Thank Keelah.

He was going to take her to jail and save Gia a trip to the graveyard.

"Yes, she was here, but left in a hurry at about seven-ish, why do you ask?"

"Gia, you are under arrest."

Gia turned to her father for guidance and he nodded, unable to do anything—helpless in his booth.

Gia listened to the lyrics as fear steamrolled over her senses, flattening them out, giving them more area to breath, soak in, feel, listen.

_Oh, a storm is threat'ning_

_My very life today_

_If I don't get some shelter_

_Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away_

She listened to the song and obeyed its orders while the others were kicked into this chaos, unsure what to do. Gia did not know a thing about these Shadow Broker agents, did not know how dangerous they were, how desperate they were, or even why they wanted to take her. Dad pulled his baseball cap lower onto his face, concealing his identity from Landford. He had to stay incognito to get her out of this alive. Gia knew the decision was tearing him apart.

_War children, it's just a shot away_

_It's just a shot away_

_It's just a shot away_

_It's just a shot away_

_It's just a shot away_

Gia willingly offered Landford her hands and he cuffed them. Everyone was tense, but the police did not know what was about to happen—what was happening. The corrugated teeth _zipped _shut around Gia's wrists.

"Gia, what have you done?" asked Landford, his eyes full of sorrow. One of the suited men sitting in the booth with the business woman slowly brandished his pistol, aiming it at Landford. Gia realized what was about to happen. These men were here to take Gia, not let her get away. no compromise.

They had orders.

_It's just a shot away_

_It's just a shot away_

Gia threw herself against Landford's chest, both of them spiraling towards the floor. Her heart sprinted on its never-ending treadmill at full speed, balls out. A gunshot tore into the tiled wall, either missing Landford, or passing right through him. Ripped on adrenaline, Bernie charged the gunman with his eight inch chef's knife and lodged it into the top of the assailant's head, the plastic black handle stopping the kitchen utensil from disappearing fully into the gunman's head. The business woman screamed and all chaos ensued . The stabbed gunman's face fell into the woman's bowl of grits, his body shaking violently, knees drumming on the bottom of the table. The police opened fire on Bernie, blowing fist sized chunks out of his back, throwing him onto the hot-top, his flailing arm knocking the coffeepot into the fryer, igniting the restaurant and Bernie on fire. Two powerful arms hooked under Gia's armpits and dragged her out.

Dad's blood speckled face stared down at his daughter. An explosion rocked the inside of the restaurant and a body flew out of the paned glass windows looking into the diner, crashing into Dad. Half of a suited man knocked Dad away from Gia, the top half of the Shadow Broker agent on his back, plucking at his loose digestive system, face yellowing. Still handcuffed, Gia stood up and watched Walter walk out of the restaurant, unscathed and untouched—not even a stain of blood, nothing. He shimmered blue and pulled out his pistol, taking aim at Gia not six feet away. Dad was still on the ground, pulling a piece of glass out of his hand and Gia was basically as open as a black silhouette on a paper target.

She was going to die.

A blue flash, not from what seemed to be Walter's biotic aura or pistol, crashed into him, knocking him through the broken glass window, feet arching through the air as he landed headfirst into a booth on the other side of the wall.

Mom reeled away from the waist high wall that Walter tumbled over and screamed, "_Run_!"

Gia turned her back and sprinted through the terminals, following the same path as she did the other day into the parking garage. From behind, Gia heard Chef yelling, "_You are making a mistake! You are making a mistake! Let it be!"_

An image popped into Gia's mind's eye of her being dragged out of the restaurant by Detective Landford.

That was if he was still alive.

Gia ran past her first armored military guard, but he did not notice her, his attention fully on the firefight down the way. Luckily, Landford handcuffed Gia's hands in front of her. A rookie mistake, but a life saver.

Thanks, Mr. Landford.

Fire alarms in the building went off, screeching and blaring with the potency of a mythological beast seen in Greek anthologies. The emergency lights powered on, brightening the hallways. People's faces were stricken with fear, knowing that this was another terrorist attack and that they should have listened to the paranoid voice in their head that spoke to them before getting out of bed.

The Halon fire extinguishers hacked fog from the ceiling nipples, concealing Gia in protective smoke, making her a harder target. Luckily for her, she knew this spaceport like the inside of her mask and only needed to watch out for the wallowing buffoons in the hallways.

What happened two minutes ago unfolded in the flash of an eye. It was those unexpected, shimmering moments that change lives and Gia knew that she had to get out of here.

What of Mom and Dad?

Mom had saved her life by tackling the Spider, but Gia did not know of her mother's fate, nor her father's. Hopefully they live and are somehow able to connect up with Gia when and if she gets out of the spaceport alive and breathing. Gia taxed her strength and breathed. Her breaths were short and sharp, she must regain her composure, collect herself, and push forward. This is what her parents have been preparing her for, this very moment in life. All of the military grade training had led to this pivotal moment—it was ten years in the making and it was over in no more than ten seconds.

For the time being, she had lived and escaped three different pursuers.

Gia will take that as a win as small as it may be.

The handcuffs were tight around her wrists, but her hands were also smaller than those of any normal human, slimmer and lankier than an anorexic, druggy teenager. As she sprinted through the airport, she wrestled with them, trying to get them off. Gia burst out of the secondary food court, hooked a right, and pushed past the clouds of Halon fire suppressant. She was almost there. The baggage claim area was in front of her, then the main atrium with the blue glass ceiling and white ribs and finally the parking garage. She managed to find a close spot to park this morning one floor below the main story.

One problem.

Two black armored guards were ushering frightened spaceport suits through the exits, their fingers dangerously close to the titanium triggers of their assault rifles.

Gia had left her backpack in the restaurant. In that backpack was her gun.

These men were in full military grade armor, coupled with kinetic barriers, and had just focused in on the handcuffs around Gia's wrists.

She stood next to the rotating metal leafs of the baggage off-loaders, thinking about what to do. The smart thing would be to let them take her in, stick her in a jail cell, and she could sit tight, nice and safe from Walter—the Spider, or whatever he was called.

The thing is, that was the smart thing to do.

This was Gia.

"Halt! You, stop right there or we will open fire!" screamed one of the men, shouldering his rifle, flicking off the safety. Gia watched the lights on the assault rifle roll over from blue to red. It was primed and ready to drop anyone who disobeyed an order as a terrorist attack was underway. They were on high alert, itchy, and scared.

As was Gia.

So she ran.

The guard shouted an order as she turned her back to them and pushed her way through a metal door, both wrists still bound by steel. Two gunshots dwarfed the noise of the alarms, booming with the timber and decibels of a planet cracking in half. Gia clenched and dove to the polished white floor in the emergency stairwell to the lower garage. Two red hot, tightly grouped holes in the steel door burned a ferocious and deadpan stare at Gia who was on her back. The hollow steel door popped and cracked, buckling under the heat of the molten holes caused by incendiary ammunition, the glass window shattering as the door warped.

The men were going to take her out if she did not get off her back.

"Gia,_ run_! Get _up_ and _go_!" she screamed to herself. Adrenaline and the sheer will to live pushed past her physical barriers. Her heart bucked and kicked, telling her brain to _stop or I am going to die_ but the Devil on her right shoulder groped for Gia's reigns, found them, and shook them with the utmost ferocity.

Gia took five stairs at a time, literally jumping down each flight, not thinking about how she could break an ankle or trip and fall, providing her wounded body to the scavengers—the predators that hunted her. They would break and tear at her like a pack of ravenous hyenas who have been deprived of essential food. Gia kicked open the last door and knew where she was: the service tunnel leading into the ticketing booths of the second from the top level of the parking garage.

As fast as she could run, the men behind her were far faster; a deadlier breed brainwashed and toned in the military. They knew one thing: follow orders and carry them out no matter the consequences.

A hot round _snapped _by her face as she rounded the corner. She could see light from outside. The cinderblock walls around this corner were painted white with yellow arrows pointing to different parts of the spaceport. Gia wanted Parking Garage Level 2. It was her get-away-alive-pass and she desperately needed to ticket it.

A security guard in a white shirt and black pants rounded the corner, talking into his omni-tool with a hand on his propane powered taser. Gia saw him, he saw her, then saw the criminal glint of handcuffs draped over her thin wrists. He knew exactly what was up. As fast as he could, he unbuttoned the holster to his non-lethal weapon and pointed its blocky nose at Gia.

"_No_!" screamed Gia, adrenaline and primordial fear coalescing deep within the primal fight-or-flight instinct. Its potency was _intense_ and she knew that if the two prongs of his weapon stuck her, it would puncture her suit, she would get an infection and die in a jail cell without immediate medical assistance.

Time slowed, the security guard grimaced, baring his yellow teeth, hands gripping the taser confidently, eyes slowly tracking Gia's movement and fired.

Confetti and silvered wires leaped from the fat tip of the weapon and Gia could see the fishhooks slowly coming for her.

Her_ fight _instinct took over inside. It broke "flight's" neck, kicked its body away, and took hold of Gia with the precision of an athlete. She dodged the prongs, closed in on him, and with her elbow, shoved her bony appendage under the man's neck, leaning all her weight into it and kneed him the groin with a blow that resonated deep in her femur. He groaned and dropped the weapon, but Gia spun around him and grabbed his neck, poking her head around the back of his head. The two men with rifles went to a knee not twenty feet away from her, shouting to let the hostage go.

"I'm not the person you want!" she shouted, spouting the most incriminating one-liner in the history of the galaxy.

Gia yanked the chain of the handcuffs against the security guard's soft throat, the looped chains reddening his skin, choking him.

Gia hid her head, knowing they would take the shot if she showed it like all the bad guys in those movies. This was real life, not the dramatic silver screen. From twenty feet away, a well trained gunman could easily shoot a head-sized target. Even she could do that.

"Shoot out her legs!" shouted one of the armored men.

Gia had not even ten feet before she reached the parking garage door and this situation had gotten sticky. She did not know her next move.

The security guard gurgled something and then erupted a spray of vomit onto the armed men. They recoiled and Gia ran, disturbed and proud that she kneed him hard enough in the nether regions to empty his stomach. Again, luck seemed to be on her side. Gia sprinted past the elevators, leapt over the hood of a moving car and jumped onto her black bike. Frantically, she reached for her keys, the handcuffs making everything more difficult. Her orange key jingled as she ripped it out of her pocket.

"_Yes yes yes_! Come on, get in and _go_!"

The bike roared to life, but there was a problem.

Oh yes, a _big _problem that was impeding her route to escape. The handcuffs pulled her arms too close together, so she could not get both trembling hands on the handles. It was physically impossible to drive.

From behind, Gia could hear boots and shouting men with rifles. Gia's two new friends were closing in on her, and Gia's modified, bubbling exhaust did not help to hide her.

Gia took a long slurp of air and went to work. Her hands were almost small enough to slip through the cuffs, but not quite. Still sitting on the bike, she yanked out the oil dipstick and rubbed the lubricant all over her left hand.

"Off the bike right now!"

"Just one minute!" she shouted back at the men. Not three meters to her right, directly in front of the elevator, were two muzzles of assault rifles glaring at her. The weapons crackled and popped, the heat sinks hot and expanding in the chambers. Gia stared down the coiled throat of the weapons and at the hot pink heat sinks glowing in the deep, waiting for them to regurgitate sixteen kilometer per second molten projectiles at their targets. With her left hand now free, Gia accepted surrender, and pushed her quivering arms into the air, reaching high, fists balled up in rage and frustration.

"Off the bike or we will kill you this time."

"Okay, you got me," said Gia.

Behind the security guards, the elevator doors binged open and Dad's blood spattered face, like a ghostly apparition, glimmered behind the men wanting to take Gia's life. Both men on edge, turned to see who it was, their rifles pushing into Gia's father's face.

Dad swiped one of the men's assault rifles aside and utilizing the Mozambique fire drill, Dad ripped his firearm out of his waistband holster and hip fired two sets of double-taps into the men's chest, pushing past their kinetic barriers, following with one, well aimed shot in each of their heads, the bullet biting through the ceramic shell and exploding out the top of their heads.

They both dropped at the same time, six shots in under two seconds.

Both dead.

Gia alive.

Dad secured the bodies and in a fit of protective rage, screamed, "_Drive_!"

Shocked, Gia popped the clutch and floored her superbike, the wheels screeching, having a difficult time biting into the smooth floor of the garage.

Gia was scared. She had never seen her father kill anyone, never thought he was able to. He was always calm and collected, quiet and caring. He was selfless and Gia had always thought of him as harmless. In reality, he had gone berserk and moved with the power and fluidity of a white water river. When pushed, his training took over in an ever consuming wave of energy bent to kill as smoothly and effectively as possible.

Gia had to shake the haunting feeling that Dad was a killer and get the hell out of here. Ahead was the ticket booth, but thick, polished machined security bars had risen in the open gap, halting anyone coming in or going out that owned cars.

Gia, however, was not on a car.

Outside the barriers was a roadblock stuffed full of police with weapons drawn, their eagerness hidden behind a caustic blanket of blue and red lights. They heard the shots fired, no doubt, but that was not going to steer Gia away from trying to get out of here. The bars made it impossible for a standard flying vehicle to make it past, but Gia's thin bike on the other hand might be able to slip through and if she got enough speed, would be able to drive through the roadblock.

Gia bit her lip, opening the wound One Thumb gave her yesterday. She clenched as she _gunned _it towards the bars, full throttle, screaming in harmony with the Italian engine and quarian fabricated exhaust. The protective bars broke off her side mirrors and Gia's knees bounced off the bars. Breath was torn from her lungs and she thought her legs had been swiped off. The pain was hot and blunt, but she was still able to shift gears with her foot, so her legs were still there. Although the lights were blue and red from the police cruisers, Gia picked out pock marks of white flashes and felt bullets tear into the carbon-fiber gas tank and blow her tires. Her handlebars _jerked_ to the right, tearing her fierce grip away from the rubber handles, and spraining her wrists. Gia coughed as her chest crashedinto the gas tank, her helmet shattering the instrument cluster, bits of plastic and metal shredding her hood.

Gia had never been hit so hard in her life as when she nosedived into the pavement and skidded to a stop.

She sucked for air, fire replacing her lungs with agonizing volume. She was writhing on the ground, supine and on her back. She tried screaming and flipped onto her belly in attempt to crawl away, but a polished, leather dress shoe stepped on her fingers. Sharp and jabbing pain shot through her arms as she looked up into the face of Walter, who wore a police issue bullet resistant vest and a smoking rifle.

"You almost did it, Gia Heiko," he said, staring down at her, the sunrise behind his smiling face bloodied to a pulp.

**Milgrom Intergalactic Spaceport, Bekenstein**

Toby pushed his vehicle as fast as he could without drawing the attention of the police wailing past the windows. Blood from his hands drizzled the dashboard in a haphazard dotted pattern. With a plastic bag he found in the back seat, he tied his wound.

"Gia, is she okay?" screamed Nashira in a panic, her face pressed against the window.

"I think so," said Toby, out of breath. He peered at his wife, double checking her—he had to be positive she was safe.

She was fine. Shaking, but fine.

"What do you mean _you think so_?"

Her voice was hard, able to scratch a diamond—protective, yet bearing some sort of blame.

"She almost died, but I saved her," said Toby.

"How do you mean?" she asked. "You mean she almost died a second time?"

"She was being chased by the military, or cops. Whoever those men were in the black armor. I am still trying to figure that out. Military contractors?"

"Chased?" she gasped. "Chased how?"

"They were about to open fire on our daughter! What was I supposed to do?"

Nashira's eyes slimmed, sharpening to two silver knives, ready to disembowel the one she once trusted and loved.

"What have you done?" she asked calmly—so relaxed, Toby flinched.

"I—I killed two of the armored men."

"Keelah…"

"They were about to open fire on Gia, Nash! What else was I supposed to do?"

She sat quietly, hand clasped together, as if she was praying—head bowed.

"Nash, listen to me," whispered Toby, grabbing her balled up hands. "I was presented with several courses of action, all of them bad, so I chose the best bad idea."

"Killing them was the best bad idea? Keelah, Toby, what…" she sighed, "Never mind. Gia, are you sure she is okay?"

"She's not dead. Last I saw her was on her bike, getting away. She was alive and kicking. We will meet at the rendezvous point as planned since we are falling back on plan B."

"What happened back there? At the diner, I mean?" she asked.

Toby swallowed and checked his rear-view mirror. They managed to escape without being tagged. It was a goddamn miracle.

"Shadow Broker agents are after us."

"_Us_?"

"Gia and I—Dreamcatchers."

"Why would the Shadow Broker want you two?"

"Why not? With us, he can predict the future. He sees us as assets that will give him power beyond all recognition. We are weapons in the eyes of others, Nash—not people."

"So they crashed our party. How did everything blow up?"

Toby steered the car towards their rendezvous point and flicked on the radio to hear what was going on. Maybe he could pick up some details.

"Detective Landford knows what Gia did. He came to arrest her and the Shadow Broker agents were not happy with that. Gia was also talking to a man at the counter, I think he was one of the Spiders."

Nashira gasped, not wanting to hear this—not wanting to come to the realization that their life was crumbling before their very eyes. She had tried so hard to protect them, but they were equally prepared for the worst. For ten years, they had been building a fortress to hide behind, walls thick with training, reinforced with preparation and spackled with paranoia. Their new adversary was more dangerous and deadly than Skave—the Spider had just seized their fortress with a one-man battering ram, splintering their gate, breaching their secure walls. Toby saw him in action. He was smooth,_ too_ smooth for his liking. Unlike Skave, he seemed perfectly normal, or he was so much of a psychopath that he believed himself to be normal and behaved accordingly.

"He's a biotic," said Toby. "That explosion you heard—"

"I felt it, Toby. It threw me against the bathroom stall door."

"Jesus." He turned to Nashira. "This new guy is something… _else._" There was a brief pause as Toby's upper lips quivered. "Nash?"

"Yes?"

"Skave was a warm-up—an appetizer. We have just been served our entree."

**Milgrom Police Department, Bekenstein**

Gia had sat in this very room about four years ago. Three blue-gray walls surrounded her, the last wall a one-way mirror where she knew many people were staring at her like some deadly specimen.

She was, in fact, some kind of threat since they still had her in handcuffs attached to a bolted down chair.

Her knees throbbed and pain lurched with Herculean vitality and her wrists felt as if they had serrated nails hammered into the joins, scraping against her synovial fluid and cartilage. It was as if dry bone grated against each other whenever she moved her hands. Gia winced and gasped in pain, trying to hold back any signs of discomfort for she knew every bit of her was being scrutinized from behind the glass.

She wondered what happened to her bike and then of her parents.

Were they still alive?

Was Mom okay after her act of bravery?

How was Dad?

Either way, she was safe from the Shadow Broker agents, but what of the Spider known as Walter? Last she saw of him he was dressed as a police officer with a smoking rifle propped on his hip.

The steel door unbolted and a sickeningly familiar face entered the room, flanked by two armed policemen cradling their weapons.

"Mr. Landford, do you still want that eggplant recipe?" asked Gia through a wicked smile.

Good, he was still alive after what happened in the 21 Hour Diner. She saved his life.

"Are Chef and Ms. Worthing alive?" asked Gia.

"Ms. Worthing is in the ICU, suffering third degree burns over fifty-percent of her body. Athena is shaken up and doing well. Bernie is dead."

"I saved your life, you know," she said, looking into his eyes filled with disappointment.

"Goddamn it, Gia. I'm so ashamed of you."

Gia spit blood and said, "About what? I can back up my actions, but I know you would never believe me."

"What am I going to tell your parents?" he said.

Gia sighed hot air and released her stress and unanswered questions through pursed lips. They were still alive and did not get noticed.

Good.

"Are you okay, Mr. Landford?" asked Gia, eying him over.

"Shaken up and my ears are ringing, but okay. Luckily, we had a special undercover government agent in there with us. He saved all of our lives from what appear to be Shadow Broker agents."

From behind Landford's shoulder, Gia spotted the pink tie of Walter.

"Hello, Gia," said the Spider.

Gia physically recoiled in her chair, the metal spindles digging into her back and pressing into her shoulder blades.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Gia shouted.

"Walter here has a lot of experience in interrogation—pulling answers from people."

"And probably fingernails!" shouted Gia.

Landford frowned and said, "Since he is a certified government employee and special agent, he is going to question you. I would, but we have a past, Gia. It would be unfair," said Landford, walking out of the small room, both armed guards following him.

Gia wanted to shout at him, scream and kick and throw a tantrum for the detective to stay, but she fought the urge and stared Walter dead in the eye. The door bolted behind him.

Gia was now locked in with the Spider, an arm's reach from the very person she was trying to avoid.

Walter cleared his throat and set his coffee on the table, pouring a cream in the black blend.

"Gia, are you physically hurt? Do you need medical assistance? These police here never tended to your wounds before throwing you into the back of the cruiser. I'm concerned about you after that hard fall."

"Eat shit."

Walter's eyelids fluttered, offended.

"If you could refrain from swearing, this will go smoother," he calmly said through a smile as he flicked a sugar packet. Walter cocked his chair at a forty-five degree angle and propped a leg on his left knee.

"Gia, are you okay?" he asked again, genuine concern still persisting.

"Yes."

"You took a rough fall back there after I shot at you."

"So you destroyed my bike you ass," she said grimly.

"Indeed, that was me."

"Good shot," she said. "Are you going to by me a new one?"

Walter threw his head back and laughed, swiping a loose strand of golden hair from in front of his deep set eyes.

"You are something special, Gia," he complimented.

"You too, but not in the same way."

"Petty insults are not going to get me riled up, Gia."

"Psychopath."

"I am not."

"Murderer."

"Gia, please."

"So, when are you going to shoot me?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," admitted Walter.

"You were there to kill me, weren't you?"

Walter eyed the mirror.

"Oh come on, Walt, my best buddy," laughed Gia, trying to get the drop on him. "You were about to repaint the ceiling of the 21 Hour Diner with my brain right before Mr. Landford saved me," she gloated.

"Since you are eighteen and going to jail for multiple cases of first degree murder, I won't need to take care of you. I do have one more person to..." Walter eyed the mirror and with a hand, blocked his mouth so that only Gia could see his lips. Walter mouthed _kill._ "He was sitting behind me, wasn't he?" said Walter. "You knew I was coming for you. You have surpassed my ever expectation."

Gia's brows knitted together, her head snapping to the mirror.

"They can hear you, can't they?" asked Gia. "They can hear what you are saying."

"Yes."

Gia leaned closer to Walter and whispered, "_Why are you admitting to all of this_?"

Walter sipped his coffee and said, "I am so high up, anything I say won't matter. Technically, I do not exist. You cannot imprison a ghost, now can you?"

"I guess not."

"Have you figured it out yet?" asked Walter, smiling childishly and shimmying in his chair.

"The dream?"

"What else would I be asking about?"

"I don't know, maybe why you are wearing a pink tie?"

Walter touched his tie without breaking his creepy eye contact with Gia—his smile unwavering.

"Oh, that hurt, didn't it?" Gia sneered, shifting in her metal chair, satisfied with herself.

"I was told I look good in pink," he admitted, now self-conscious about his choice in colors.

"By someone with no eyes?"

"My wife, actually."

"You're married?"

"Yes," he smiled.

"Kids?"

"Two of them."

"Do you beat them? Touch them inappropriately? Abuse your wife?"

"I show them unconditional love and affection."

"With your fists and open palm?"

"Gia—"

"I know your type."

"If you are expecting me to hit you or get angry, you will be sorely disappointed," smiled Walter, sipping his coffee.

People who kill for a living—monsters that wear rose colored glasses when taking life are supposed to be violent in nature, capricious and egotistical. She wanted to see what he was made of—who they were facing. Walter was cool, calm, and collected, even more so than her dad. That scared her even more than a fist thrown in an infantile fit.

"Now, about this dream."

"I'm not telling you jack shit. For all you know, I have spoiled your little plan."

"I am sure you have not figured it out. In fact, I am positive. You, sitting here in this interrogation room, is the last place you want to be. You are so _astronomically _far away from your final destination, no metaphor can possibly describe it. You are poetically losing this fight."

Gia knew that she was and with her now in jail, there was no way this dream was going to get solved. Dad might be able to figure it out on his own, but the Spider was going to be on his tail once he finished up here. For some reason, Gia was not afraid of being behind bars for the rest of her life, but feared for her parent's lives and getting the dream solved. There was something meaningful and big behind it if the Shadow Broker wanted a cut of it. This was way larger than her. An elephant had fallen into her lap with high class poachers chasing it.

"You don't stand a chance against my parents. You have no idea what they have survived. Walter, you are cannon fodder to them."

"Toby Heiko and Nashira Heiko, ten years ago, were involved in a C-Sec hiccup known as Operation Deception. C-Sec's executor worked with a Citadel Spectre to clean house of human CSSR operators, all of whom were Special Tactics and Reconnaissance candidates. CSSR agent Brian Hilliard was directly involved and assisted in the escape of Toby Heiko, along with Pira T'Estoni, a CSSR call receiver and once hacker. The Spectre, Skave Arterius, failed capturing Toby Heiko, but accomplished the assassination of C-Sec Executor Kieran and was almost executed by Cerberus agents afterwards."

"Dad… was a Spectre candidate?" asked Gia, stunned by his knowledge of what happened ten years ago.

"That he was. Aliens did not like that option, so they tried to kill all three candidates, Vince Cugasi, Brian Hilliard, and your father, Toby Heiko, only accomplishing in taking out one. Not a day ago, I helped clean up the mess they so sloppily left all those years ago. Earlier, I killed an asari known as Pira T'Estoni."

"That was you?" said Gia, containing her pent up, high-octane anger.

"Yes. I almost blew her in half. You also might want to know that I killed Brian Hilliard."

"No, you are lying. I saw him walk out of that apartment complex not ten hours ago."

"That was an allegory. Physically, he is still alive, mentally, I have _obliterated _him. I am systematically killing everyone close to you, Gia. Before you even knew I existed, I have been cleaning everyone you ever knew."

Walter pulled out a paper bag with a red wet spot on the bottom. He placed it in front of Gia and smiled.

"Go on, look inside."

Gia sat in her chair, staring at the bag. She wanted to throw it against the wall, far away from her, but she must not show weakness to this adversary.

"Gia, you cannot deny gifts. I took effort in finding this."

Moaning through the pain in her wrists, Gia plucked open the bag and found a familiar face. A guinea pig's cloudy eyes stared back at her.

"Oh, what's your problem?" she screamed. "What did she ever do to you? What did Norry do to you?"

"Like I said, I am systematically killing everyone you are associated with. Gia, from what Dr. Jeff told me, you are cynical and require proof in order to believe anything. That is a scientific mind. I, however, am powered by faith. The only way for you to believe me was to cut off your friend's guinea pig's head and show it to you. That way you would believe me when I told you I entered her house in the middle of the night and blew her head off, along with her parents. They were disgusting, anyways. People who do not show respect to their bodies must not show respect to others."

"You didn't even know her!" Gia coughed out through a silent, anguished scream. She doubled over, head swimming with the reality that her only friend was gone, dead, at the hands of this man sitting calmly in front of her. For fuck's sake, she did not even know him and he had already ruined her life before she even knew his name.

Gia looked up to Walter's self satisfied face and said, "I am going to kill you. I swear I will put a bullet right between your eyes. I _hate_ you."

Walter shivered and smiled.

"That is my girl. That is the emotion I wanted to see from you." He sighed and looked to the table. "That is what my brain tells me, at least. Truthfully, Gia," he grabbed her hands and Gia closed her eyes, mouth trembling. "Truthfully, I wanted to see something else in you. I wanted you to be different. I am sad that you are anything but different. Just a little girl strapped to a chair accepting her fate. How pathetic."

Gia wound an arm up and launched it at Walter's face. She choked a scream when her shackles restrained her shaking fists. She felt napalm spread between her joints.

She hated this man for killing an innocent person with an already shit life.

Gia heaved and pushed her arm forward through the linked chains, trying to punch Walter through her restraints. Her whole body ached and told her to sit back down, but for the life of her, she wanted to draw blood.

"Oh, how exciting! Now this is what I wanted to see. This is the Gia I was looking for. You are in the most helpless state of your life, are one of the most harmless and less capable people and want to fight someone exponentially superior even though you are handicap. This is indeed a special trait. Now, if you will, sit down before I hurt you further."

Walter contemplated what she said and responded, "Gia, I am sorry. I think I overreacted, killing Norry and her overweight family. Again, I am sorry. Please forgive me."

Gia gunned him down with her stare and sat back in her seat, the excruciating pain melting her body into jelly.

"You can stare at me with those judgmental, condescending eyes all you want, but let me ask you something: do you believe in God—a higher power?"

Gia was taken off guard by this question as it pertained to nothing.

"No," she grunted. "Not after what I have seen and done."

Walter became excited, more so than before and sipped his coffee, apologizing when he slurped. In his eyes, Gia did not see anything off of a rotten personality—he did not have that distant stare she imagined psychopaths to have, but embodied the enthusiasm of a child on its fifth birthday about to tear into their gifts. This look was more disturbing than anything else this man has said and done. Gia was scared.

"Why not?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Because it is stupid and childish."

"Give me an example," he pushed.

"Science keeps on proving religion wrong. For all we know, your human God could have been the protheans. I don't know much about quarian spirituality, but being around humans and taking their history classes, I have found their form of religion frightening. People kill in the name of God even though it was artificially created to cope with the feeling that they are so small in the scheme of things."

Norry's face flashed before her eyes and she was concerned that she was able to speak so swiftly and coherently after the breaking news. Something was wrong with her. She accepted that.

"Go on," said Walter, drumming the table with his fingers. Gia noticed a ring on one finger—a golden band. He was indeed married.

"Th-they don't understand what's around them, so they create an invisible friend to talk to when something it too hard to understand and instead of figuring it out and studying the unexplainable, they turn their heads and rely on faith—divine intervention. People blindly follow books—"

"Don't you follow books blindly, like science textbooks?"

"Well yes, they are backed up with sources and credibility."

"I believe in God, Gia. Where do you think all of this stuff came from?"

"It's called the Big Bang, you incompetent moron," spat Gia, not understanding where this was going.

"How do you know? Is it because scientists told you?"

"Well… yeah."

"God and the divine are real, Gia Heiko."

"Prove it."

"There were ten Dreamcatchers in the galaxy, three of them on this planet including me and one somewhere else. Eighteen years ago, two of them were literally on opposite sides of the galaxy and then came together as a family. A human and a quarian married. The chances of even _that _happening are slim, but two Dreamcathers, who ten years ago did not know their abilities, happen to meet and become family is odd, is it not, Gia Heiko?"

"It is," she admitted with a frown.

"What are the chances of that happening? You and your father are not related, so it is not genetic. The ratio of you two meeting, becoming family, nonetheless, are so lopsided. The gods work in mysterious ways. This is an act of divine intervention and I am a fallen angel that has come to monitor the situation—do as I see fit."

"You're psychotic," she said, not fully grasping what he was saying.

"What I am saying is that Dreamcatchers can play God—I am here to stop you from doing so."

"I don't even know how to use my… _powers_—my foresight. Why would you try to take me out?

"You have seen what can happen in less than twenty-four hours. Though you may not understand what you have seen, soon enough, it will all make sense, I promise you."

Walter's long finger slid around the rim of his Styrofoam coffee mug, staring at Gia with a blithe smile.

"Gia, I see the hatred in your eyes aimed towards me and I understand fully. I know you want to run a blade across my neck and kick me into a ditch while I bleed out, but I am not going to leave this room until you tell me what happened four years ago."

Gia shook her head and rattled the chains against the steel chair. She felt like Prometheus bolted and chained to the rock and Walter was the eagles coming in to feast on her liver. She could do nothing to stop Walter while she was under his complete control. Her life was at his mercy and he was sparing it when he could take it effortlessly.

"How do you know about that?" asked Gia through clenched teeth, her low voice reminding her of Mom's.

"I had a nice talk with Dr. Jeff last night."

"How did you know about him?"

"I am in the information business. I know everything."

"If you know everything, why do I need to explain my actions four years ago?"

Walter leaned in and gently grabbed Gia's slender hands with tender love and care. His touch was sincere, though Gia jerked her hands away from his, revolted by his two-faced actions.

"Because, Gia, I want to see what kind of a person you really are and by having someone recall a time in their life in which terrible actions have been carried out, their raw personality shines through."

Walter held a well tempered air of mastery and the room seemed to swirl around a trait Gia had not seen in him before: arrogance.

Gia saw this as a weakness.

Walter's grip tightened on her hands as he grabbed a finger threateningly. Gia gasped, winced in pain and let him manipulate her, surrendered her body to him.

"I do not like being lied to, Gia. With every lie, I can promise you that I will break a finger. When I run out of fingers, I will break your toes. When I run out of toes, I will break your arms, knees, and ribs. There are over two hundred bones in the quarian body and I will happily snap each and every one," he said, a fierce aggression shinning in both beautiful blue, snow-globe eyes.

Gia hissed, "_Okay_," and shot a glance at the one-way mirror, hoping someone was looking into the chamber of dominance and hostility, both mentally and physically.

She knew what had to be accomplished. Never had she described what happened, but every goddamn day, she went over her actions in her head, rewinding the past and reliving it, asking herself, "_What if_?"

"Four years ago," she grunted, "we all lived together—my mom, my dad, and I in our Milgrom penthouse. We were tight, but being out of touch and not as observant at the ripe age of fourteen, I never knew what my parents were going through, especially my dad. What seemed to be almost every night, from my spaceship shaped bed across the hall, I could hear my dad wake up screaming, '_Rachel, Rachel, I'm sorry!' _When I heard him screaming this, I would cry in bed, sad and not understanding what was happening. If you didn't know, Walter, that was his friend that got shot by Skave during, what did you call it? Operation Deception?"

"That is right," he said, still hanging onto Gia's fingers, his energy gorging on hers.

"I would sometimes walk into their room and sleep between them in their bed and cuddle with Dad's arm. I just wanted to comfort him. I tried so hard. Then I became a teenager and you know what they are like, right?"

"Cold, misunderstood, and hard to get along with," said Walter, still smiling.

"Exactly. I was that, but ten-fold. Looking back, I would have beat the shit out of myself."

Walter winced at the curse word, applying pressure to her finger. Her knuckle popped and Gia apologized.

"_Anyways_, my dad tried so hard to show his love towards me, but I rejected him. Typical, right? I distanced myself from him and he understood why—he was once my age, you know? Well his nightmares got worse—more savage and brutal, more visceral and stronger. Mom decided Dad needed to see a therapist and since we have money, we hired the best on Bekenstein, an asari by the name Ms. T'Lori. She was the kind of therapist who charged way too much money, but did wonders. By this time, after what my family calls the Incident, what you know as Operation Deception, the memories of the things he lost and the new, malicious memories were relentless to him. Let me tell you, my dad is a tough _sonofabi_—as hard as nails, but what he went through back on the Citadel was tearing him up on the inside. I sometimes think he swallowed glass and still has it inside of him, just churning in his stomach."

"What about your Mom, Nashira? How did she take what happened?" asked Walter, his eyes showing watery concern.

"You don't know my mom. Before the Incident, she was nice. Nice like sugar coated high-fructose corn syrup diabetes sweet. After what happened on the Citadel, she hardened, but still showed compassion towards my dad and I. Quarians contain themselves and their emotions—it's a cultural thing. They are more honest through body language and Mom never stood as tall as she once did, lost that bounce in her step, and was… _twitchy._"

"She hits like a frigate coming out of FTL," chuckled Walter. "I know that was her that body slammed me out of nowhere. I honestly was not expecting that."

"I wished you were impaled on a piece of glass," said Gia back, not laughing.

Walter put a finger in front of her mask and waved it. "Not nice, Gia. Please, if you do not mind, get back to the story."

"Mom contained her emotions, much like a pressure cooker contains steam, cooking the shit out of whatever is inside in a shorter period of time. Months before the divorce, I came home from school and thought I was alone, with Mom at the shop."

"She works at a shop?" asked Walter.

"Yeah, she's a mechanic."

"Didn't you just say you have money?"

"She is a quarian. She likes to fix things, keep her hands and mind busy. Think of it as paid vacation. Anyways, I was working on some model ships when I heard crying from the bedroom. It was my dad. Concerned and curious, I checked on him and found him in his underwear, sitting on the balcony on the master bedroom porch with a bottle of cheap, high proof alcohol and a gun shoved in his mouth. He was about to kill himself, but my voice brought him back to sanity. I told Mom and she almost went mad. The old Mom would have quietly consoled him—talked to him in an understanding manner, but she was _this _close to losing him. Dad was bedridden with depression, so we had Ms. T'Lori visit our house to help him out. I don't know what it was, but after Mom blew up, Dad looked at her in such a way that made it weird. It was… _jealousy _or something—a cocktail of anger, and pent up stress that intoxicated him, gave him a buzz. He was acting weird since T'Lori started visiting our house. We were all acting weird, but through our bizarre chemistry, Dad was getting better. He began running again—one of his hobbies. He and Mom were getting along and a sparkle came back in his eyes that had been missing since we moved to Milgrom. Everything could not have been better, until the summer before I went to high school. I came home early after rocket club was canceled due to really windy weather. I signed up for the high school rocket club and was acclimating to it over the summer. Milgrom schools were good about doing stuff like that—student first kind of thing.

Gia sighed and eyed Walter.

"Do I have to continue?" she asked.

"Please."

His grip tightened on her finger.

"I remember this part clearly. It began storming in the middle of the day on the way home when Mom picked me up, but cleared up when we got home. It was one of those outta nowhere rain showers that beats away the heat and sweetens the air, but ruined shooting rockets miles into the sky. We walked into our house and noticed T'Lori was doing a session with dad, since her high heels were kicked off at the door. She liked doing things casual—it made the conversations flow naturally, you know? Me, being a horrible little wench with raging hormones, I can remember being pissed off about the launch day being pushed back when the weather was fine by the time we got home. I think I wished the weather forecasters would all die from some 19th century human disease. That is when I heard a noise, from Dad's bedroom."

Gia stopped talking and took a breath.

"Must I continue?" she asked the Spider.

"Yes."

"I walked in on Dad and that stupid fucking asari having sex. Mom was right behind me and saw everything, but she had dad captured in that telepathic thing where their minds mesh together. You know how I said Mom was like the pressure cooker? Well, she went off while Dad pleaded that the therapist manipulated him. That pressure cooker gene I spoke of apparently lives within me. A monster hatched inside and I lost it. In our house, we kept guns hidden in certain locations in preparation for people like you, Walter. In the kitchen, next to the silverware drawer was a pistol that I had personally trained with and shot. It was my favorite since its grips were thinner and it was small, but packed a haymaker of a punch. I remember walking into the room and watched my Mom punching and slapping Dad who was apologizing and genuinely looking confused. T'Lori wrapped herself in the bed sheets and was trying to get dressed before she was hit with the wrath of an over protective quarian mother and wife. That is when I turned those bed sheets blue instead of white and blew a fist sized hole right in the center of T'Lori's head, but Dad tackled me before I turned the gun on him and finished him off as well. He squeezed me, hugged me hard, and screamed like an animal. I still remember the sound of his voice, the silence from my mom, and the wet _thud _from T'Lori's lifeless body. That was four years ago and I avoided jail and juvenile detention, but had the police keep a close eye on me, along with Dr. Jeff. It was four years ago when my parents split ways because of my actions. I messed up big time."

Walter let go of Gia's finger and asked, "Do you believe him?"

"What?"

"Your father. Do you believe what he said about him being manipulated?"

"I honestly cannot tell you. Part of me says _yes _while the other part remembers that look of jealousy in his eyes after he tried to commit suicide."

"Has he forgiven you?" he asked Gia, his voice a soft and curious whisper.

Gia pulled her hands away from Walter's loosening grip and bored a hole into his caring and sullen eyes.

"He never was angry at me. I think the only thing he wished happened was that I shot him too."

Walter stood from his chair while adjusting his pink tie and snapped at the one-way mirror. The door unlocked itself with a thick and heavy _clack._

"Gia, I appreciate your honesty, I really do. From what I can tell, you are the most honest person I have ever met. I am humbled by you, I really am."

His voice was not laced with sarcasm or black humor, rather sincerity that deep down inside made Gia feel good about herself in a twisted way. His words were arrowheads dipped in venom, but fired from Cupid's bow.

Walter bent over and gave Gia a hug, and she obscenely found herself leaning into his broad shoulder, embracing the comforting gesture from the man who wanted to kill her, who killed her friend, and were to hunt down her parents.

Gia whispered, "_Why not kill me now_?"

Still hugging her, Walter replied just as gently, "_Because I want you to know that I am going to kill your parents and you cannot do anything about it_."

Detective Landford and the two armed guards entered the room as Walter let go of Gia who was helplessly bolted to the chair.

"Did you hear anything I said?" Walter asked Detective Landford. His white face glistened with sweat, resembling ricotta cheese, scared of the man in the suit.

"I did not hear anything," he said.

"Good. If you did, I have permission to kill you, your wife, both lovely daughters, and your chocolate labs."

Walter left the room and Gia was able to breathe once again.

"Detective, you have to do something," she said once the Spider was out of earshot. "You heard him! You heard every goddamn word and it's your duty to do something!"

Landford blotted at his sweat freckled brow in distress with his sleeve. His eyes showed the good cop, but his stance proved otherwise.

"Gia, we are going to put you in a temporary holding cell until we find out who you really are. You are an enemy of the state and dangerous. We cannot let you go," recited Landford.

"You've got to be shitting me."

"Guards, will you please escort Gia Toshiko to her cell until further notice."

They complied and unchained Gia. Standing almost killed her. Her knees felt as if they were made from soggy paper mache and she winced in pain, grabbing the armed man's shoulder. Gia felt him flinch when she grabbed his arm for support. An armed guard was scared of little Gia, a one-hundred ten pound quarian—thought she was a savage killer alien hell-bent on taking out humans.

She stared at the floor, feeling ashamed in a way that was ambivalent and undeserving. Deep inside, she knew she was not a killer, but on the surface, she was wearing a murderer's skin and everyone noticed the bloodstains.

Walter had a tight grip on the situation and at every turn had the high ground. He was one step ahead of everyone and effective at his job. With Gia out of the picture, he was going to take out her parents and the police department knew what he was going to do.

"Mr. Landford—"

"Gia, please... don't speak."

"He is going to kill _everyone_."

"Gia, not moments ago, I just found out that you have been lying to my face about who you are. Your background checks are solid, so you must have had some help high up. Now, I hear your last name is _Heiko_ of which sounds eerily familiar. Who are you guys?" he asked, helping Gia through the door.

"Ten years ago, something happened on the Citadel," started Gia.

Mr. Landford's face was struck with horror when the familiar name of "Heiko" struck a chord with him.

"Jesus Christ. You… your dad was the one that killed all of the C-Sec agents all that time ago?" he asked. "I knew that story Walter was telling sounded so familiar."

"The government lied about everything, Mr. Landford," said Gia, her knees wobbling, voice hoarse and dry. A barrel jabbed her in the back from the guard behind her.

"Fuckin' aliens. You are all murderous bastards," said the guard from behind her. Gia wanted to hit him as hard as she could between the legs, giving him a free vasectomy with her kneecap. Stupid should not be able to breed.

Goddamn patriots.

Another man came up to Landford, one of which Gia did not recognize, but he was a higher rank than Landford. They exchanged hushed words, traded nervous glances, and walked away from each other.

"Change of plans," said Landford to the three of them. "I'm taking Gia to Central."

She knew that was Milgrom's police head-quarters in the center of the city. Lockup was tighter there with no way for her to get out, either by herself, or with help from her parents. There must be some way to warn them.

"I got this, guys," said Landford, circling Gia, grabbing her handcuffs, making sure not to yank on them in a way that would hurt her wrists. He still had some sort of sympathy towards her. She still had a chance, but he was being careful and Gia did not blame him. She had just been blamed for the murder of four people from yesterday and had not even been asked her side of the story. The whole system was biased and wrong.

Landford directed her out towards the rear exit, passing a lot of cops, all of whom gave stares towards Gia that hit her in the heart. She knew most of the faces and they were extinguishing the fighting chance, the flicker of hope, her burning passion with condescending looks. A coffee cup full of hot Joe spiraled towards Gia from the crowd and crashed into her face. The crowd _booed _her and Gia noticed the news anchor with the fake tan and bleached teeth spewing anti-alien propaganda with recent attacks. Her own face was plastered over the holographic screens as was a picture of one of the detectives that had flanked Landford when he busted into the diner that was at a standoff with no true peaceful resolve.

A woman holding a newborn sat on a couch, two toddlers leaned their blond heads into her shoulders, their faces melting with disappointment.

"_He was a good man and was loved by his comrades. He served the Milgrom Police Department with pride and will be missed_," wept the woman.

The man with the fake tan came back on screen: "_That was the wife of Detective Freeman who died in the line of duty only hours ago at Milgrom Intergalactic. Gia Toshiko, a _quarian_, was solely responsible for his death as she set off a bomb, killing six others in the restaurant she worked at. As of last night, she also murdered her guidance counselor, a classmate, and slaughtered her best friend and her family in their sleep. The story on that soon to come._"

Stupefied and powerless, she stood her ground, mouth hanging open, and stared at the screen. Mr. Landford pulled her along, away from his enraged brothers-in-arms. They shouted at her, threw garbage at Gia, and would have torn her apart if they stood there any longer.

"_Cop killer_!"

"_Vagrant rat_!"

"_Gypsy_!"

"_Murderer_!"

She wanted to say something back, but found no energy or real need to. Detective Landford pushed open the doors and the hot, white light from Bekenstein's star was shadowed by the underground police parking, but through the windows, Gia knew it was going to be just as hot, just as still as yesterday. They said nothing to each other until Landford opened the rear door to his cruiser. They did not even bother to lock the handcuffs, so as Gia sat in the rear-seat and pushed her arms in the plastic molding that was the backseat, they tightened.

Landford sat in his seat and the vehicle sealed itself.

"Someone died?" asked Gia.

"Yes. We moved you because a lot of people at my station are pissed. You could get hurt."

"They are police men, though," she said.

"No, they're people, most of whom lost a family member on Shanxi or the Fist Contact War."

"Those were turians that did that!"

"In their eyes, all aliens are the same."

There was a hard knock on the front passenger side window, Gia turned to see who it was, but her eyes locked onto the threaded barrel of a pistol and a big, white hand clasped onto the grip.

"_Open_," said the man outside the cruiser.

Landford eyed his own sidearm, but thought otherwise and opened the door. The masked man from outside sat in the passenger seat, his pistol pressed to the side of Landford's head.

Was it the Spider?

No, different build and different clothes.

A Cerberus agent?

A Shadow Broker assassin to finish the job?

"Drive," said the man with the gun.

Landford sighed and started the vehicle. It moaned and drifted towards the exit. Gia's heart thudded in anticipation, waiting for a bullet from the front seat.

"_Do something_," whispered Gia as she fought the handcuffs.

The large man disconnected the radio, his pistol not moving an inch away from Landford's face.

"And where am I going?" asked Landford.

If she could just get her handcuffs off, or more realistically, get her hands in front of her, she could reach for Landford's pistol and plug this person, whoever he was.

"I was going to say the Toshiko household, but that would be a bad idea," said the man.

Gia knew he was an assassin and wanted to finish off the Dreamcatchers. He was well informed and sounded cold. Fully occupied with Landford in the front, Gia slipped her hands under her feet. The assassin up front turned his head and looked Gia over through his black silk mask.

Gia had one chance and knew what must be done. Landford might get killed in the process if it came to that. That was Gia's last option. The gunman appeared well trained and was probably fast. Gia, on the other hand, was fighting for her life. She would be faster than this intruder.

"Hell, if one car crash wasn't bad enough for one day," Gia said, taking the two of them off guard. Her hand darted towards Landford's weapon under his arm. She pushed past the blinding, almost debilitating pain and groped for the sidearm, the rubber handle slipping into the palm of her hand. Landford stabbed at the steering of the vehicle, trying to throw the masked gunman off guard, giving Gia time to rip the weapon from his holster. She felt the weapon unfold in her hand, the slide lurching forward and the blue lights flickering to red. She yanked the trigger, punching a hole in the windshield, her helmet muffling the roar from the weapon to a dull and heavy _thud_. The gunman punched Gia's grip with the tip of his weapon and Gia screamed in pain, her wrists sending frantic _I'm hurt, you moron _signals to her brain.

"Gia, it's Brian!" screamed the gunman and pulled of his mask. "It's your Uncle Brian!"

"Keelah! What are you doing here?" she yelled, seeing his face and recognizing her knight in shining armor, rather a pale gorilla in a brown leather jacket. Realizing what was going on, Gia grabbed Landford's sidearm from the floorboard and kissed the back of the detective's head with its icy lips.

"Go to Dad's house," she ordered Mr. Landford.

"You are making a big mistake, Gia!" yelled Landford, his face turning red with veins marbling his sweaty face and bald scalp.

"Landford, is it?" asked Brian. "Pull over at your favorite donut shop and get out of the car."

"He will kill them," pleaded Landford. "My family."

"No, that is what I am here for. I will kill him first," said Brian seriously. "If you don't do as I say, you will die, but if you follow my directions, you will live. If you live, people will tell you things. In fact, you have been told a lot that are lies. I am Brian Hilliard, Toby's Heiko's right hand man, Gia's uncle. You might have heard my name from the news, but I assure you, you are being deceived by lies the government and the media want you to believe. Gia is innocent, as is Toby—Allan, and Nashira. We are the good guys."

By the time Brian finished talking, Landford had pulled into a mile high building, mid-level, at what actually appeared to be a donut shop. He landed the vehicle and stared around at the chain of fast food restaurants surrounding them. People got out of their cars with their families to eat their high-calorie breakfasts before setting off on this blistering weekend day to do whatever normal families do with each other.

"Detective, we promise to get this _sonofabitch _for you. Your family will be safe," said Brian. Gia withheld his firearm and jumped into the diver seat of the cruiser.

"Detective, if we do this right," started Gia, "You will understand."

The detective nodded his head and evaluated his options, running through the lies and truths that were now blurred. The fine line of enforcing the law and being the enemy had been skewed and he did not know who to believe.

"Gia, you are like a third daughter to me," said the detective. "I have a funny feeling your actions have promising reasons behind them because you are too smart to have done what the media and the evidence has told me. I will give you one hour before I call myself in and we find you. Do what you need to do, but beware, you will have the entire force on your ass in exactly _one_ hour."

"Thanks. Thank you, Mr. Landford," said Gia as she closed the door. She pressed her two fingers against where her lips were and then pushed them against the glass towards Mr. Landford and zoomed off.

"Christ, you got big," said Uncle Brian.

"So have you," she said patting his stomach. "I am surprised Dad's old jacket fits your fat ass."

Brian managed to burp a laugh and said, "I cannot zip it up."

"Are you okay? I saw you on the news _twice _today," said Gia, steering the cruiser into the lines of light traffic.

"I will catch you up as soon as you tell me what is going on," said Brian.

Gia explained everything important to him in the shortest amount of words—the dream, the numbers, the eggs, the relation to the exploded heads, the Cerberus assassin, the Spiders, everything.

"Okay, that is a lot to take in," he said. "It's like you grew up over night."

"_Ha-ha_, very funny," she mocked him.

"Thanks," he said, flattered.

"Now you said something about going to Dad's house being a bad idea?" asked Gia.

"I was at the spaceport tagging your old man, your mom, and you."

Shocked, Gia asked, "I didn't even see you."

"Good. I met your friend as well at Pira's apartment. What's his name? The dude with the pink tie who struts like a goddamn supermodel?"

"Walter. Dad said he is the Spider I mentioned." Gia placed a hand on Brian's. "Brian... I am sorry about Pira."

Brian shrugged it off and said, "Nah, it's no problem," he lied. "But yeah, I saw him drive off to Toby—your dad's house. I tagged him in the spaceport following you and then brushed by him before I took you hostage. Oh man, I wanted to kill him right there." Brian peered at Gia and smiled. His face was familiar and warming. "I am taking you hostage for the time being until we find your parents in a safe manner."

"I'm not a hostage if I like my captor," said Gia, punching him in the arm, gasping when she forgot about her wrists.

"Okay, Little Miss Stockholm Syndrome."

"Anyways, what's the big deal about going home?"

"Your dad can handle himself and the police will be after us," said Brian, flicking his machine-pistol off FIRE. "We have to leave them."

"What, are you nuts?" yelled Gia, but then she smiled. "This is you pulling some sick joke, isn't it?"

He did not look at her, nor did he smile.

"We are going to my dad's house," reasserted Gia. "They will die if we don't."

"We will all die if we do. Walter was escorted by the same guys dressed in the military grade armor as in the spaceport. We won't get to them."

"Dad's house was our rendezvous point if shit hit the fan, which it did."

"Yeah, you're spattered and reek of it," said Brian.

"We figured they would check our main residence first, the house in the city, then figure out where my dad lives a bit later."

"Well Pinky knows where your dad lives."

"We know where he is going, so why don't we just go whack the mother-fucker?" asked Gia, trying, but failing to tame her frustration.

"We are getting off this planet," he said, rubbing his forehead. "You and I will figure out this puzzle together. Your parents will find us later, I guarantee you. They are too smart to get caught. Do you understand?" asked Brian fiercely.

Suddenly, Gia did not like her captor anymore and did feel like his hostage.

"If we go to the house, we will die," he said. "Go to the spaceport, we will live."

"You have not thought this out have you? How are we going to get off world with my face plastered over every vid in the galaxy? I will get caught."

Brian was quiet then said, "Turn this vehicle around and go to the spaceport. I will get you on board."

"Like hell."

Gia grabbed Landford's pistol and smacked it as hard as she could into Brian's face, the front sight biting into his forehead and drawing blood. He grunted a derogatory slur of words before Gia hit him a second time, knocking him right out.

"We're going to save Dad and Mom, you _maniac_."


	10. Chapter Nine - Ballistic

**The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter Nine - Ballistic**

Blood dribbled out of the wet dent in Brian's forehead and onto the black upholstery of the police cruiser. Gia barely recognized him with his shaved head and the extra weight he packed on, coupled with the dark bags hanging heavy below his closed lids. Ten years of stress and life threatening pursuit had taken its toll. It was like he lived the past ten years on a high gravity planet.

Gia was on her way to blindside the Spider. She would be the last person in the galaxy that Walter would expect to go on the offensive against him. She had less than one hour until law enforcement agents would bring down the house with everyone in it, but Gia had the advantage.

Gia shook her wrist, hissed at the pain, and glanced at her watch.

She knew the terrain around Dad's house from her adventures as a child and had the element of surprise, which was vital in a situation where the adversaries outnumber the attacker. Gia landed the police cruiser a little less than a kilometer away from Dad's house, behind a rolling hill that looked down on the home.

Save for a couple million credit mansions, they were secluded—and even then, it was unlikely the billionaires would be home during summer vacation time.

Gia met all of their neighbors.

They were nice.

Empty.

Gia thumbed the hatch release and the vehicle stripped. She did not bother to turn off the cruiser since Brian, while unconscious, could die in the heat—she expected him to be out for quite some time. Kneeling on the seat, she reached over to the center console and blasted the air conditioner. Grimacing, Gia spun to the trunk of the cruiser. Having spent many unwanted hours around law enforcement vehicles like this, she knew them intimately—knew their harbored secrets. In the rear of the vehicle were two upgraded rifles, compared to the standard military grade Avenger assault-rifle. In two metal weapon holders, there lay the M-15 Vindicators clamped to the trunk. The police force had gotten their hands on these weapons a couple years back from the manufacturer Elanus Risk Control Services after seizing them from a mercenary band and fell in love with the platform. Police using high grade gang weapons was ironic, but they beat the hell out of the Avenger. Gia had many hours of practice on this platform and her father had trained her diligently. It was light weight and the stock was ergonomically designed to be fired from both a female and male body of all "humanoid" races, the stock fitting comfortably around breasts and snug in her thin shoulder.

Gia grabbed the weapon and unfolded it, the pieces _lurching_ together into the full length rifle. It had an aftermarket, police issued 4x magnification sight attached to the top rail of the weapon, which Gia really liked. A three-point tactical sling clung to the rifle, this way she could drop her weapon and it falls safely to her chest within easy grabbing distance. This made a rifle to pistol transition easy. She grabbed a fistful of heat sinks and strapped on a kinetic barrier projector to a fabric assault vest. At the most, she could take two,_ maybe_ three shots from a low powered pistol, but only one from a standard rifle. On her thigh, she buckled a Nylon drop leg pistol holster and slid Detective Landford's sidearm into the pouch, this way, if she had to reload in the heat of a soon to come fight, she would be able to transition to the pistol faster than popping in a new heatsink into her rifle. Dad called that the Meltdown Drill and pounded it into her hard head, making it muscle memory—reflex. It was better than running in there naked. If Walter was inside, he would at least be armed with a pistol. The freak liked to use his physical prowess to overwhelm his enemies, not machined tools used to doing only one thing efficiently. Gia imagined him saying, "_I like using my hands. They never forget the feel of touching and killing. They are poetic, in a sense. You can use them to love, care, to nourish, yet at the same time, you can take life with them."_

Sick fuck.

Even on this brutally hot day, Gia felt an icy pinch at the nape of her neck, the cold fingers melting down the rest of her body into a quick shiver.

Gia would try to use this weapon as leverage against Walter. A bullet beats a fist and is faster than a biotic blast.

She circled the vehicle and looked into the cabin to make sure Brian was not moving or awake.

Lights out.

Knocked cold.

Good.

This was Gia's family Brian wanted her to abandon. That was strictly against her rules, no matter how much she hated them.

With a grunt, she set off up the hill. It was early afternoon, yet the sun was a white hot molten disk broiling the planet, the sky a blue inverted ceramic pizza oven, spilling hot brew. The hill was unkempt—waist high brown, dry, dead shrubs covered the knoll full of thickets of thorns, blasted out insect nests, and bleached hot rocks. The larger, more persistent insects were the only ones who lived through the beginning of the summer. They vibrated and hissed in the brush. If it weren't for them, the only noise to reach Gia's ears would be her deliberate footsteps, the distant rumble of the city some kilometers away, and her throbbing pulse. The wind had abandoned the planet, seeing its attempt to cool its inhabitants were futile. Vulture like birds circled above Gia, casting momentary flashes of shadow over her.

They were her guardians, watching Gia, waiting for her to die.

Gia gnawed on her lip and suckled the blood as she traversed the grounds leading to Dad's house. It was hard to walk through the heavy brush, but she sidled her way towards the objective with an unbreakable determination. She shied the barrel of the hot rifle away from the vegetation as she neared the top of the knoll.

Hopefully, she would not see Mom and Dad's vehicle parked out front. If there was a police vehicle, then she would know Walter was inside, or in the surrounding hills. He is the kind of person that would want to stare into the eyes of his victims as he cut their throats, not pick them off at a distance.

Gia, however, wanted to kill him from a long distance—it seemed to be her only chance at taking this bastard out. At close range, he was lethal and even the egotistical Gia knew her boundaries. She dared not venture into those tremulous territories.

Gia reasserted her thoughts, feeling her angst getting the better of her. She was here to get Mom and Dad out if she found out they were trapped at home, not to kill Walter. She was going to try to avoid him at all possible costs. She was not to act valiantly, but remain cautious.

She had one life and must use it carefully and as effectively as possible.

"Gia, what are you doing?" she asked herself upon nearing the apex of her possible shooting position. "You can do this," she whispered, getting on her hands and knees and crawling through the brush. "You've trained for this moment for ten years of your miserable little life. Show them how much ass a quarian chick can kick."

An eighteen year old quarian sharpshooting government agents. Who would have guessed?

"What happened, Gia?" she asked, peeking through the brush. "One day a line cook, the next a serial assassin." Her knees retaliated when she dropped to them, so she winced, and fell to her stomach, dragging her body with both elbows, clearing a Mohawk of yellowed, dead grass at the hill's crest.

Panting, Gia peered through the weapon's glass and licked her lips, letting her mouth dangle open.

"Okay, let's take a peek."

She propped the rifle on a rock in front of her prone position and sure enough, there was Dad's red car with a police cruiser parked right behind it with the lights on, sirens off.

"What were you expecting, Gia?"

Still, her heart sunk. Upon further investigation, she noticed two guards in black armor pacing the front of the house. Mom and Dad had to be in there with Walter.

"Let's just hope they are alive," she breathed.

Gia felt the Devil on her right shoulder steady its breath, and she knew what had to be done. Killing people was unlike the thrill she experienced while watching action flicks, it sickened her—a hand ripping through her breast plate and crushing her heart with a pulverizing blow. She really did not want to pull the trigger on the men down the hill, three hundred meters away, but she was an animal, life in danger, and cornered. Mom and Dad would do the same thing if that was her stuck in the house.

It was the right thing to do.

The only thing to do.

Gia shouldered the rifle and stuck the crosshair on the little black dot moving out on her dad's front law. She dug her belly into the dirt and positioned her legs laterally from the barrel so she could transfer the energy of the rifle through her whole body and place faster, more accurate shots, keeping the crosshair on target and controlling the recoil and rise of the barrel.

Just as Dad taught her.

_Good girl_, she heard him say.

She was already in enough trouble. With the law bearing down on her, Gia's stomach had been in protest, her heart as well. It was all a nightmare.

"You can do this, girl. You have this. These are the bad guys. You are the good guy. Just… _shoot_," she whispered out the corner of her mouth.

The guards suddenly seemed spooked and Gia's heart rate jumped when she noticed their raised rifles and a white mist growing out of the ground in the front yard.

"Dad, you smart _sonofabitch_," she said through a sinister, ferocious smile. He set the irrigation system on a timer, just in case a situation like this happened.

He knew Gia was going to come for them.

The sound of the sprinklers, combined with the pitter-patter of water against the windows should conceal a certain degree of sound inside. Gia's confidence grew as she exhaled and settled in for the first shot.

_Breathe out._

_Time your heartbeats._

_Fire between beats._

_Squeeze the trigger._

_Don't anticipate the recoil._

_Exhale._

The first burst _spat_ from the tip of the barrel, the recoil sneaking up on Gia, which was good. She did not anticipate the recoil and failed to yank the shot low left like she used to do as a kid. The rifle kicked into her shoulder and pushed her head subtly back. Her hood popped from the concussion.

She was right back on target and watched the black dot double over and slide down the hill on the right side of the house, disappearing from sight. There was a bleached, battered wooden fence guarding anything from falling over the cliff on the other side. The man should have weighed a bit over two-hundred pounds and could have broken through the wooden fence. She did not think twice about how the fall was going to finish him off.

The rifle shot echoed through the hills and Gia quickly acquired her next target, unsure if the first man was down for good—if he was stopped by the fence, or went over the ledge. His buddy, standing next to the mailbox at the end of the gravel driveway, spun on his heel, and searched for his partner in crime.

Surly he heard the gunshot.

Gia squeezed the trigger again, saw white powder kick up from behind the second target and a falsetto scream sliced up the hill from when the burst cleaved into his center of mass.

He shouted once and dropped.

Gia was horrified at the energy the high powered rifle contained behind its bullets as it bit through the man's kinetic barriers, ceramic armor, and slipped out his back, burying the tungsten chips into the driveway behind him. Gia murmured a terrified mutterand fired a second salvo into the black dot kneeled over on the gravel driveway.

It took a second, but the sound of the bullets crashing into his body sprinted up the hill, making her feel sick. It sounded like a fresh green bean being snapped in half.

"Keelah."

Gia poked her head from behind the rifle and trembled—adrenaline masquerading as horror. She was not getting used to killing, but her desperation was steering her actions. She trusted her instincts well enough to follow them without question.

Or so she hoped.

The insects in the grass halted their song as the three rifle shots shattered their constructor's concentration. It was silent.

No distant moaning.

No shouts of pain.

Nothing.

Gia had knocked off two more people and was sure to have her face plastered over every wanted poster in the galaxy. Deep in her stomach, she felt dread and knew, if she was to get out of this alive, she would be gripped by nightmares of this very moment until the day she dies.

Gia thought she would be good at this whole cat and mouse game, but she thought wrong. Inside, she hurt, even if the people she killed would drop her sorry ass the instant they saw her—no questions asked.

_Bang._

Carefully, Gia trembled to her feet and angrily grabbed the rifle from its post. She had fifteen shots left, enough to hopefully take out whoever was inside. There was one singularly dreary assignment she had left to carry out: go into the house and kill Walter.

It was inevitable.

If the guards were still outside, then he must still be alive, but the fate of her parents was unknown—a secret harbored under the dominant shadow of Walter Spinnaker, a Spider. Gia descended the hill, rifle at the ready. She was in the open and might as well have painted herself a bright color to attract the bad guys.

_Oh, wait._

At least her orange clothes were somewhat blended into the dead vegetation. She would be a smear on the hillside—an orange brush stroke on yellow canvas.

Regardless, she made her way down the hill at a quick pace, sliding down the last ten feet, stumbling onto the street, then regained her composure.

Her rifle scanned left, then right. Only the crumbly sound of rocks tumbling from the hill she slid down followed her.

The dead guard on the driveway lay motionless and Gia fought her quarian curiosity to look at what she did up close.

Her heart warranted her to stay away.

The dead body was enough to physically deal with, but the fact that it once held life moments ago and that Gia herself took it from him so easily was what shook her.

The way it laid there was unnatural.

His joints bent and loose, body supine, ripe, and unmoving.

She expected to see more blood on the chalky white gravel, but she did not see any, only a fine pink mist. There must be pools of it in the loose pockets of black, ceramic armor.

Ruminating on death was no way to win this fight.

The sprinkler system was making a racket.

_Chick._

_Chick._

_Chick._

_Chick._

_Chick._

_Thupthupthupthup._

_Chick._

_Chick._

_Chick._

_Chick._

_Chick._

It might have been loud enough to cover the noise.

"Focus, Gia," she whispered and licked her lips, training her rifle on the three windows in front of the house. The other guard must have been killed, or fallen over the edge. She should have checked, but was eager to get inside. She breathed heavily and trained the Vindicator onto the garage entrance, which was partly open. Gia noticed about a dozen neat, clean holes in the thin metal garage door, as if there was a firefight.

"Oh shit," Gia snapped and bent to a knee.

The garage door was about half a meter off the ground and chunks of concrete were mauled out of the cool slab. Her feet crunched under the gravel and the insects in the grass started rattling again. Gia spun around to look at the hill and saw a glint of light in the distance, and remembered that was where she and Dad had blown up alcohol bottles with fireworks one year.

The destruction was fun back then.

Not now.

Her heart lunged as she knelt to peek under the garage door. Dad's second car was parked to the right of the two bay.

It was dark inside, but Gia slipped under the door, her vision flashing white with panic when she heard a sniffle off to her left, not two strides away.

A man in black armor sat against the wall with his helmet off, drooling spindles of blood. A fist sized hole cratered his chest, but he was still alive, about to check out.

Gia whimpered, startled, disgusted, and terrified at the sight. The raw power weapons contained humbled Gia, but what a bullet could do to a human body—how it could manipulate a chunk of meat covered in ceramic was irrevocably devastating. Blood spattered the garage door behind Gia and she saw another armored man laying in the threshold of the hallway inside the house and the garage. The door had been blown off its hinges and the frame was bowed out, cracked.

Never more in her entire life had Gia wanted to see her parents.

She shouldered her weapon and had the hardnosed will to use it against anyone hostile inside—anyone endangering her parents. She had cleared this house a million times, so even with the lights off, she was confident in her ability to swiftly maneuver the halls and rooms in order to take out Walter.

She took a deep breath, reassured herself, and lunged into the house, stepping over the man who laid in the hallway.

_Left. Dad's bedroom. Clear._

She shifted the weapon to the right.

_Bathroom. Clear._

Weapon still to the right, she leaned around the corner to check the kitchen.

_Clear._

Then, behind her, to the left of the hallway, she heard her Dad's voice.

"Gia, _no_!"

Mango cried out, "_Run, Gi-Gi, my Gi-Gi_!"

Her heart threw itself against her ribs and Gia spun to the dining room table where Dad and Mom were tied into their seats, Mango crawling out of a hole blasted in his cage.

Walter shot up in his chair, and with one hand, yanked a shotgun from his lap.

The drywall in front of Gia detonated into a white cloud with pellets snapping through her fabric hood.

Ducking, Gia made a run for the kitchen, using the cloud of pulverized plaster as cover.

Even though her mask dampened the noise, she felt the blast shake the room—heard the chandelier, silverware and dishes in the cabinets jump and _clatter_ from the concussion.

On her bottom, she pushed herself against a cabinet and recovered, adrenaline ferociously throbbing through her system. Gia found herself quivering and nervously panting, a raspy call for help scratching its way unconsciously out her throat.

She watched her knees knock together from behind cover—eyes wide, silver plates.

The cabinet to her right _cracked _and _burst _into sawdust as the Spider fired through the stool and beadboard breakfast bar on the other side of the cabinets.

Mom and Dad were screaming her name, telling her what to do over the gunfire.

Gia was purely overwhelmed and suddenly realized that she did not have the training or reflexes of a soldier.

She was outclassed in every sense of the word.

She thought she was going to freeze amidst combat, until she heard Mom yell, "_You can do this, honey_!"

Gia screamed, feeling that this was the end and stood up, rifle shouldered and found the Spider in full view, charging Gia.

She aimed at his face and yanked the trigger, leaning into the recoil, and took cover as Walter's salvo of supersonic buckshot disintegrated the toaster into melted beads of molten tin behind her. Gia popped up again, this time not finding her target, until movement to her left attacked her eyes. He was in the hallway, right where she entered.

Attack and maneuver.

He was good.

Gia felt heat blast through her suit as she took a shot right in the center of mass, but the beads _reflected _off her kinetic barriers, peppering the ceiling in a vicious, fanned spray pattern.

Mom screamed in terror and Gia lost balance, getting slammed into the counter top, her elbow snapping the faucet clean off, spraying water over the kitchen.

Gia tried to recover, but the Spider was faster, professional, and better in every single way imaginable. As she craned her head back to him, teeth bearing, eyes squinting, she noticed he was glowing blue and heard bolts of electricity snapping and arcing off every metal surface in the kitchen.

What Gia thought was a tectonic shift, she watched the kitchen counter in front of her splinter and bend like a gate opening towards her. The wood from the cabinets hemmed as they took the brunt of the biotic blast, ripping the tile flooring from its cemented position like a giant flipping a full board of checkers. It rippled towards her and she ducked, feeling the orb _hit _the refrigerator, pushing it through the wall of the house tumbling end over end into the front yard, tossing thick chunks of dirt and grass into the air, somersaulting to a stop, door falling open, condiments spilling onto the lawn.

Gia, alive, but not fully believing so, blindly groped for her weapon. Her rifle had snapped off the three-pointed sling, so she reached for the handgun instinctively, but something hit her hands _hard_, the pistol crushed from her grip. A hand throttled her neck. She snorted and gargled, shocked at how her body's reflexes reacted when her neck was being constricted.

She felt her eyes push out of her sockets so she punched the Spider in the face, even though she could not see him. Her fist hit something immovable and she was thrown over what was left of the breakfast bar.

Gia gasped and opened her eyes. It was hard for her to see anything through the hot tears that souped her vision. She made out her mother's curved leg and grabbed it, but a hand yanked her belt from behind, dragging her across the room.

She clawed at the floor, helpless.

"Gia Heiko," said the Spider in the most frustrated voice she had heard from him, which was chillingly calm for a man who had just been blitzed. "You almost killed yourself, your family, and I."

Gia coughed as Walter flipped her and _slammed _her on the table. She felt the dinner plates from last night shatter under her back.

Gia gasped then screamed.

"Gia, can you see me?" asked Walter, pushing his face inches away from hers. "Answer me."

"I'm sorry about the kitchen, Dad," said Gia, to her own bewilderment.

Walter grabbed her facemask and crushed her head into the table, shattering another plate.

"How did you get here?" asked the Spider. "How did you escape?"

"I have two…_ two_ words for you," muttered Gia, trying to get her breath back.

"I am listening, Gia Heiko."

Gia fought for air and breathed a couple of times before saying, "_Fuck. You_."

Through her streaming eyes, Gia smiled and would have hurled a lugy in his offended, sweaty, scrunched up face if she could.

"Baby, are you okay?" screamed Mom through the furious wrath of Walter.

"I think I pissed him off," whispered Gia, right before Walter pushed her head into the table again, this time cracking the wood.

Walter dragged her off of the table and kicked Gia into a kneeling, submissive position and pushed the barrel of the shotgun into Dad's mouth. Walter's eyes hinted at anger, a golden strand of hair dangling maniacally in front of his face. The stare he gave Gia was that of a determined man on a desperate mission that was almost compromised.

"I will blow his head off, Gia."

"No you won't," she taunted him.

Walter thought about what she said to him and pulled the weapon out of Dad's bloodied mouth and walked over to Gia, pressing his foot into her chest, knocking her backwards.

Gia gasped as she braced herself with both hands, then shut her eyes as she saw the stubby "stock" of his shotgun collide with her face. It pushed her mouthpiece deeper into her lips than what One Thumb did.

Gia screamed in pain.

She had never been hit that hard _ever._

"How did you get out?" persevered the Spider, his voice frantic.

He hit her again, leaving a nice dent in her orange, drywall powdered, water speckled mask.

Gia leaned her head up and spit out one of her front teeth. She stared at the red fragments clinging stickily on her mask, falling one by one back onto her dry, cracked lips.

It was terrifyingly similar to those nightmares where she spits out her teeth.

"_Is—Is_…" she stuttered.

The Spider, eager to hear her plea and reveal her secret, waited, his eyes wild with mania. He cocked his head, putting an ear inches away from her "mouth."

Gia plucked another tooth from its roots with her sticky tongue, spit it out, splattering the inside of her mask with blood, and groaned, "_Is that all you got_?"

The Spider readjusted his pink tie and suavely laughed, throwing back his head and swiped his golden hair into place. He breathed out, then in.

"One more smart answer, Little Miss, and next time I hit you, I will disconnect your palate from your skull."

Walter grabbed a chair that had not been turned into Lincoln Logs and put it on the other side of the table, adjacent to Mom and Dad. He turned back to Gia and set her into the chair.

Gia tried to fight the ever protesting pain, but failed, and she yelped, blood dribbling from her trembling mouth.

Walter sighed and carefully looked around the house, analyzing the interior he had laid to waste in under fifteen seconds. Gia spun to watch his actions—every move was an interpretation as to how long they were going to live before he demolished them.

Dad, Mom, and Gia were quiet, fixated on their master. He paced back and forth, finger on his lips, quietly murmuring to himself with the shotgun leaning on his broad shoulder.

Gia recognized it as one of Dad's that was once propped in his gun safe. He must have taken it off one of them when he went ravaged the house through his frontal assault.

Gia was astounded that his suit was impeccable and untouched, where Gia was a disaster. Her tactical vest was shredded, clinging on by only one Velcro strap, her thigh holster was laying on the kitchen floor, and she was covered in ash and debris. Putting on the low powered kinetic barrier projector saved her life.

That was the single smart move she made out of the dozens of stupid ones.

Craning her head up to look the Spider in the eyes, Gia noticed a blot of red on the side of his face.

She had shot off his ear lobe with one of the bursts she wildly fired at him.

He was, in fact, not invincible.

"Mom, Dad, are you okay?" asked Gia through a whisper.

Dad eyed Walter with caution, then responded, "We're fine. You handled yourself beautifully there, Gia."

"It was textbook, sweetie," said Mom. "You couldn't have done anything differently."

"Yes, I could've," said Gia, looking Mom dead in the eye. "I could've killed him. I messed up big time. I went off on my own."

Gia stared into her lap as her heart anchored deep into her guts.

"This all could have been prevented," she continued. "I made a mistake."

"Honey," started Mom, her voice soft, just like in the old days. "The fact of the matter is, you tried."

Gia fought off tears and looked to Dad. Their daughter was devastated.

"Who plugged the two in the garage?" asked Gia.

"That was all your momma, Gia," said Dad, smiling through a bloody lip and a black, swollen eye. "I took off their barriers while she unloaded tungsten buckshot into their chests. They were down in under ten seconds."

Walter allowed them to talk about how they killed his escorts. It only made him feel more special that he had survived.

Walter strutted to the table and pulled one of Dad's monstrously ugly green chairs over from the living room, the backrest punctured by rifle shots.

"I did not expect to see you here, Gia," smiled Walter, resting his shotgun on the table, finger delicately resting on the trigger. "How did you escape the police department?" The fire in his eyes was suddenly replaced with a sharp glint of charisma and child-like curiosity. He calmed himself so quickly.

He was in complete control, but Gia saw a sliver of his inner madness.

Mom and Dad both shot looks of concern at their daughter as if this was new news.

"He didn't tell you?" asked Gia.

They both shook their heads _no_.

"Well, I got arrested, but escaped. That's all you need to know," said Gia to the Spider.

He smiled and dabbed his ear with a napkin he found on the floor.

"Good shot. You nearly had me, Gia." Walter took off his gray tailored jacket and rolled up his white button-down shirt's sleeves. His arms were hairless, muscles angled, veins bulging and blue. "Your husband was going to be a Spectre, did you know that, Nashira?" asked the Spider to Mom, loosening his tie.

Dad perked up and Mom nodded.

Gia, however, was confused.

_A Spectre? Dad?_

Gia swallowed, fearing a shotgun blast to Dad's face would come at any moment from the tip of the Spider's barrel. Even though it looked like he got in a losing fistfight with this machine of a man, Dad had a fierceness in his eyes that she had not seen since Gia murdered the asari doctor four years ago. With this rekindled sense of chaos, it seemed that he was feeding off the energy. He did not appear tired, lazy, or unkempt, but rather fit and starving for a fight. A fierce roach of iron gray hair gathered at his temples as he flexed his jaw, grinding his teeth.

Mom had stopped stooping, her posture as straight as a beam of light, ready for anything. She sat closer to Dad, shoulders touching, leaning into each other. It was like this new predatory game was the bond they needed. It brought them back to what happened on the Citadel ten years ago and they knew that together, they could get through anything. From both their appearances, they seemed confident—had a plan up their sleeves.

Gia felt the opposite.

Walter—this Spider, was unlike anything she knew. The skill gap between her and him was so wide, it would take a miracle to survive the leap in order to defeat him. She never imagined fighting a professional—a master—would be like this. Gia is as cocky as they come, but at this pinnacle moment, she had been unequivocally humbled by Walter's ability.

Mom and Dad had gone through this before. They should know what to do from here. Sitting there bleeding, slouched in a chair, body pushed to its limits, Gia could not imagine what the next step was.

_What if this _is_ the last step?_

Dad grabbed Mom's hand from under the table, but she did not retaliate his grip.

"Operation Deception—what happened on the Citadel ten years ago was because you were on the Spectre candidate list."

Gia's hooded head snapped towards Dad's stoic, hardened face.

He knew. Why did he not tell her in the story? Was he not proud of it?

The Spider leaned into the table and said, "Your daughter has impressed me more than you have and I am trained to kill people like you—see, I am a Spectre hunter. I do not exist and the government acknowledges that." The Spider leaned back, wiping the sweat from his upper lip. "Gia?"

"What," she said flatly.

"I take it you killed the two men outside without me even noticing?"

"Yup."

Both her parents stared at their daughter, eyes wide, mouths open.

"I did this for _you_," said Gia to Mom and Dad, ashamed.

"We're proud of you, Gia. We have your back on anything you do," added Mom.

Walter stood from his chair and with a kitchen knife he found laying on the floor, cut loose the zip-ties that held their hands in place behind the chairs.

"One move and I will paint the ceiling with Gia, do not think I won't do so," said the Spider, seriously. "I am hoping, Toby, that your neighbors live far away?"

"We are secluded, if that is what you're asking," said Mom. "No one would have heard a thing," whispered Mom, the _r_s rolling off her tongue. "We're alone."

"Excellent." The Spider walked into the kitchen, admiring the destruction, his face smiling, then drooping into a sad notion. "Toby?"

"Yes, Walter?" he growled.

"I am sorry for ruining your humble home. Please take my apology into consideration," said the Spider, walking out the hole in the kitchen and onto the frontyard.

"What is he doing?" asked Mom, leaning over Dad, leaning forward to make a move. Dad pressed her back into the chair. Gia scanned the room for weapons close at hand and saw none. Standing would only result in her getting split in half.

"I wish to make you all happy," he said, leaning into the open refrigerator that was upended in the front yard, "I want to recreate history, in a biblical sense," he happily shouted, reentering the house with cooking items. "Are you at all familiar with _The Holy Bible_?" asked Walter. "_Shwew_, it is hot out there."

The three of them stared blankly at the Spider, who grabbed a small omelet pan.

"About two-thousand, one-hundred and fifty years ago, Jesus was crucified on a cross by the mighty Roman army. Two others were crucified alongside Jesus of Nazareth—that makes _three _total," he sang, eying Mom, Dad, and Gia, one by one. "They were publicly humiliated and condemned, their executioners receiving praise by their onlookers. Only hundreds of years later, were Jesus and his two nailed up companions worshiped by millions. I am carrying out justice—following not only orders, but trailing what my heart and faith tell me to do. Dreamcatchers are entirely too dangerous to the civilized galaxy. We posses powers far beyond anything anyone can comprehend." Walter set the pan down on a shattered piece of counter top. "If civilization survives in," he peered at his watch. "eleven more hours, then yes, people will look at your actions as heroic. You will be praised for your attempt to save what I am trying to destroy."

"What exactly are you trying to destroy?" asked Gia.

"It is all in your head, my darling," said Walter with a smile. "Now, before I lay waste to the three of you, I thought I should at least feed you. Gia, come," ordered Walter, dabbing at his ear, yet smiling.

"What if I say no?" she spat back.

Walter _cocked _the pump on his shotgun and blew away the legs of Gia's chair, throwing her to the ground. The gun's noise was horrendous, blasting drywall powder from every surface from its concussion, turning the room foggy.

"You _sonofabitch_! I swear I'll kill you!" screamed Mom, standing from her chair.

"Sit down before I tear you in half, Nashira. Do not be brave. Gia, do not test my patience," whispered Walter. Mango, now on top of the cage, hissed at Walter. The Spider scratched the back of his head and pumped the shotgun, ejecting a glowing heatsink. It hissed in the puddle of water at his feet from the spouting, broken faucet and inserted another one, racking the pump forward.

"Did I ever tell you about my history with birds? Even as a child, I did not like them."

Dad slammed a fist on the table and growled.

"I-I'm okay, guys," stammered Gia, staggering to her feet.

The Angel on Gia's left shoulder plucked its harp, keeping the Devil from sending Gia into a blood rage, which would surely kill her.

"How long have you had your pet bird?" asked Walter, aiming the shotgun towards Gia's feathered companion.

"Ten years," said Gia, her heart plummeting—in free fall as she carefully watched Walter's shotgun draw a bead on Mango.

"Are you close to him?"

"He's my best friend."

Mango reared his head back, beak open, and swayed his gray head back and forth like a Cobra, trying to avoid the smoking tip of Walter's weapon.

"I had a pet back in Paris as a child, a lizard. I accidentally crushed him when I fell asleep with him reading a book when I was nine. I was devastated, but I no longer feared death after that. It hardened me, prepared me for what lay ahead. I was a better person because of his death."

Walter's eyes glistened with a monstrous nostalgia.

"No, don't do this," said Gia her voice frail.

"_I will miss you, Gi-Gi, my Gi-Gi_," whispered Mango in a voice that could have passed as human. Mango screamed and flew at Walter who turned Gia's best fried into a feathered flak detonation.

Gia couldn't hear the blast, her father shouting, or her own scream—only the sound of blood pulsing through her skull, whispering words of reconciled revenge to its host. Gia gripped the table and watched the gray feathers flutter to the ground, mouth dangling open and fighting back tears of throbbing rage. At that very moment, Gia decided that when she killed Walter, she would take pleasure in doing so.

"Gia, can you make eggs for your father? I'm sure he is hungry after what he has been through today," said Walter, racking the pump as if nothing had happened.

"Dad, are you hungry?" droned Gia, noticing her voice trembling slightly, void of emotion, not fighting Walter's leash for fear of it becoming a noose. She tried to cut off the emotional old Gia from grabbing the throttle and crashing herself into a brick wall, that being Walter.

She wanted to lash out, but that would mark the end of all three of them. She wanted to live a little longer and kill Walter for what he did.

It was the way Walter had begun treating them that chilled her to the bone—winter's scalpel carving deep into her marrow. He had created a new circle of Hell for Gia to live in, one deeper and hotter than the others.

He was not happy about Gia showing up at home and ruining his playdate with Mom and Dad.

"Yes, I am," said Dad, his voice trembling with ballistic anger. Dad knew the kind of relationship Gia had with Mango and he knew what she was feeling on the inside. Mango consoled her when times were tough with unconditional love, cooed to her after coming home from school after being beat up, and warmed her heart when it was dormant four years ago. If it were not for Mango, Gia would be hanging from her neck with rope in a closet.

"Up, Gia. Come with me to the kitchen," said Walter, chillingly calm and in control, extending a hand for her to grab. The anger that Gia saw in him moments ago did not match this painful peace.

"I am sure you know how to make an omelet, right?" asked Walter with a smile, pushing the shotgun into the small of Gia's back. She eyed a kitchen knife an arm's reach away. "Do you know what a shotgun blast at this range would do to your frail, skinny body? It would pulverize your spine, essentially breaking you in half, and most likely liquidize your intestines. Sure, a few pellets would zip through your stomach but most would scramble your guts."

Gia curled her hands into a ball.

"Come on, this will be fun, Gia! Who gets to cook with their executioner? You should feel fortunate—I am sparing your life a little longer than anyone else would." Walter grabbed Gia's hands—they were just as tender and blithe as in the diner, but mute with violence. "Steady yourself Gia, there is nothing you can do."

He handed Gia two eggs and smiled.

"I'll heat the pan up, Gia, my brave, courageous goddess."

Walter's big, blue wet eyes ached with loving care as he stared at Gia and then to Mom and Dad. As he heated the pan, he propped his shotgun in the crook of his left arm, aiming it at the Heiko family.

"I also worked in a restaurant when I was your age, Gia. We come from the same hardworking culture."

Gia fought her tongue that wanted to lash out.

_Stay_, she told it in her mind.

"Have you heard of the last supper?" asked Walter. "Oh, the stove still works. How thrilling!"

"The Bible story?" asked Dad.

"Yes."

"I might have. I read about it in college."

"Then you see the relation in what we are doing," stated Walter, slicing a knob of butter from a stick and putting it in the pan.

Gia cracked the two eggs into the pan and watched in tranquilized anguish as the two yolks slid into the sizzling butter. He was taunting her with the dream.

_Two hot yolks._

Gia did not like that.

"Toby, if you will, turn on the vids. I'd like to listen to the news, if you don't mind," requested Walter, excited to see how the eggs turned out. "No, Toby, sit. I'd like Nashira to turn it on. Toby, if you move, I blow her away. I see the way you look at her with those dark eyes of yours. You still love her, yet she poetically resents you. It is a shame how an asari can manipulate the mind—turn your significant others against you." Walter dabbed his forehead with a napkin. "Toby, you did not even know what was happening when they found you sleeping with your therapist, did you? You had nothing to do with it."

Walter smiled at Toby's flush face.

"You do not have to answer that, my friend. All I know is one of you were manipulated against your will," he continued, looking at Nashira. "Psychological warfare is a powerful and mighty weapon," he teased as if he knew the truth to everything in their lives. Then again, he was a Dreamcatcher, and if Gia was able to put two and two together, they have the ability to stare into each other's minds, thoughts, and emotions.

Why then did Walter want to know about what happened four years ago? Perhaps she was sometimes able to block Walter from invading her thoughts?

Walter trained the shotgun on Mom's heaving chest as she crossed the room and she turned on the vids and then carefully, without taking an eye off Walter, sat back down, grabbing Dad's hand.

Gia's throat was cloy with a potent cocktail of fear and rage that she could not swallow.

"Gia, please take a seat on the couch. I can finish the eggs."

Gia followed his order without protest. She knew he would open fire on her with that eerie smile still wrapped on his perfect lips if she didn't.

The family quietly watched Walter finish cooking his eggs—one for Toby, and one for himself, grabbing a couple of nutrient paste tubes scattered on the ground, and handing out lunch.

"There, now we can converse like civil human beings," said Walter, satisfied with his food. "Please, dig in."

Gia sucked on her paste and carefully watched Dad and Walter eat their eggs.

The nutrient paste tasted like imminent death. She was going to be buried with this shit still in her stomach.

She wiped the seat of the couch with her hands, scraping feathers and red bits of flesh from the fabric. It felt as if someone had poured liquid nitrogen down her throat and kicked her in the stomach.

It looked like Dad wanted to throw up.

Walter finished his bite, smiled, and said, "Now, let's talk."

"About what, exactly?" asked Mom, her hands shaking, wanting to wrap around his thick neck.

"First of all, I want to tell all three of you that together, you are a worthy adversary. Gia, your will to never give up is astonishing."

"_Erm_… thanks," she said from the couch, holding a pillow to her chest tightly, thinking about how she would never see Mango ever again.

"You are welcome."

Walter's blue eyes tracked Mom's white ones. They were slender and sharp—sickle shaped.

"Nash, is that okay if I call you that?" asked Walter.

"No."

"Can't we just be friends here? I am treating you with respect, am I not?"

"Only my_ husband_ calls me that," said Mom.

Walter pouted and said, "Fine," and pointed at Dad and Mom. "The way you are looking at me reminds me of how the doctors stared at me when I was in Hubris. Let me tell you this: I am _not _a maniac. If you look at me like that again, I will pour bleach in your eyes," said Walter, pointing at a bleach bottle rolling to a stop against a chunk of frayed wood.

Gia had stared deep into Walter's glacial eyes and saw the truth. She saw no demons, no glint of moony madness, or uncontrolled rage. They sparkled like that of a normal man. All she was able to decipher in those oceanic eyes was unmatched determination—Gia saw the same sparkle wink at her every morning in the mirror.

It froze the passionate fire raging inside of her.

She did not want to be anything like the suited monster sitting not five feet from her.

"The way you look at me makes you two look stupid," pointed Walter, taking a swig of milk he had poured. He set the glass down inside of the wet ring of perspiration on the table where it laid before. "Your daughter looks at me like a normal human being, which I am. The only difference between you and I is the way I pursue my goals with an unreachable zeal."

He wiped the milk mustache off his upper lip.

"With that out of the way, I want to know something," he began. "Your prowess to fight and survive is uncanny." He delicately ate another forkful of eggs, wiped his lips, and continued through a smile. "Now, I want to see if your mind is as sharp as your instincts. If you are like me, I know to die without life's big question being answered would be a tragedy. Let's see if you can figure out this dream of ours."

The news was on, as was the vampiric anchor reporting on what was happening at the Citadel. Gia still despised his snide appearance and radical opinions.

Gia probed the toothless pit in her gum, scared of what Walter was going to do after he blew away Mango. He was caustic—volatile, yet oddly consistent, save for the past several moments. The way Dad had described Skave the other day was different. He was a xenophobic psychopath with power at hand, but Walter was, dare she say, _normal_.

"Okay, the lullaby. Let us entertain the tale of _Humpy Dumpy_. Do you know it by heart?" asked Walter, scratching the back of his head in what seemed to be a painful demeanor. He pulled his finger away and it was tipped in blood. He shrugged it off and stared at Mom.

"_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,_

_Humpty Dumpty had a great fall._

_All the king's horses and all the king's men_

_Couldn't put Humpty together again_," recited Mom with a deadpan stare.

"Excellent. Now, what could it possibly mean? Toby, do you have an idea? You do this for a living, solving puzzles and riddles."

"I don't… _know_."

"_Tisk tisk_, such a shame. The fate of the galaxy is in the balance of your hands, Toby. Think harder. I want you to figure this out. What about the basket of eggs?"

Gia, on the couch, was out of touch, not paying any attention to the conversation they were having to her left. On screen, the bleach toothed anchor was talking about King's Bank, the location of the bizarre head exploding incident and about the bank itself.

"_King's Bank, the most profitable and prodigious bank in the galaxy, has gotten a lot of attention these past couple of days. With the jeweled, three pointed crown as their logo, everyone around is sure that they will be revisiting this emblem of power in history books for ages to come…_"

That was when she saw it.

"No, it _can't_ be," she said to herself, capturing the allure of the conversation at the dinner table. Gia pushed a hand frantically into her pocket and yanked out the piece of paper with a sketch of the basket of eggs, the riddle, and a couple of other notes from Dad's dream diary that had been torn from the spine last night.

Walter pointed his shotgun at Gia, ready for her to brandish a weapon, but she did not care about how reckless it had been to put her hands in a pocket after a shootout. In her pocket, she had the answer.

"Gia, what is it?" asked Dad, standing from the table. Walter nodded to Toby and Nashira, allowing them to sit on the couch with their daughter. With Dad on her right, Mom on her left, Gia held the sheet of paper up to the screen, both small trembling hands clasped onto the edges of the wrinkled paper. With the sheet stretched out front, the holographic screen's light pierced the paper, accenting the felt tipped pen sketch of the basket of eggs. On screen, King's Bank's logo popped up—the three pointed crown—enlarged so the public could see it.

The three pointed crown lined up _perfectly _with the three eggs and the basket.

"That's it," whispered Mom, her arm snaking around Gia's thin waist. "You did it, honey."

To their left, Walter clapped: "Well done!"

"But how does that make any sense?" asked Gia, through a befuddled smile, which slipped away as fast as it came. "What does it mean?"

Walter cocked his head and grinned. "Put two and two together."

Dad stiffened and his eyes lit up.

"Humpy Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty is an egg, right?" shouted Dad, glaring at Mom.

"Humpty Dumpty is King's Bank," continued Nashira, "The wall he fell off of is the Citadel. Another definition of c_itade_l is a fort—a built up structure."

"So that means whatever we are trying to stop is on the Citadel," shouted Gia, standing up.

"Well done!" shouted Walter, clapping slowly, genuinely proud of his puppets. "You are a smart one, Nashira. Are you sure you are not the other unknown Dreamcatcher?"

The Heikos, after celebrating a short lived victory, turned to the Spider.

"Before Gia showed up, I thought you said you killed all of them and that we are the last ones left?" asked Dad.

"Oh, I was not supposed to say that?" grinned Walter, whetting their appetites.

"We are the only two left that you must take out," said Dad, reassuring his crumbling thoughts.

"There are _four _alive right now. Gia, you, me, and an unknown fourth."

"There is one unaccounted for?" asked Mom.

"As Dreamcatchers, when we polish our abilities, we can see into the thoughts of other Dreamcatchers—catch glimpses of what they ate for dinner, what music they listened to, and see into their memories while sleeping. Gia and Toby, I know a lot about you. For two years, I have been on a wild expedition through your thoughts, memories, and fantasies." Walter turned to Gia. "We are a lot alike, you and I."

"No, we aren't. I am nothing like you!" shouted Gia.

"No? We both share a passion for food, are determined, and fantasize about revenge."

Gia was silent and felt probed, much like how she had felt in her sessions with Dr. Jeff. Walter knew too much.

She hated him for that.

"When I venture into the mind of this fourth, the most I get are sounds of metal on metal. There is no visual imagery. This fourth fights my intrusive actions like it knows I am invading its mind."

"What are you going to do about this fourth?" asked Mom gently.

"Once I kill you in a couple of minutes, I am going to find this final Dreamcatcher and kill him. Now, let us finish this dream."

Walter, as if hit by a small rock from behind, stood from his chair, reeled around with his shotgun at waist level, and aimed at the hole in the wall. There was a pop and two darts hit Walter in the chest, sending him hurdling to the ground. His stiff body bounced off the floor as he landed face first onto the destroyed arena.

"Keelah!" cried Mom.

Gia looked to the left and at the hole in the wall, when she saw a shimmer in the hot air, like a mirage. The misty smoke was that of a silhouette.

Gia stood up, ignoring the ghostly apparition of whatever took down Walter, and kicked him in the head three swift times. The current was still coursing through his incapacitated body, but through clenched teeth, he gunned Gia down with a stare consumed with hellbent anger as she collapsed to her knees and hammered his skull with closed fists.

"_Die_!" she shouted.

"Get away from him!" screamed a female voice to Gia's left in the breached wall.

Gia hit Walter one more time and fell to the ground, her chest heaving—her mouth venting blistering hate.

The mirage solidified and an asari in full dark gray body armor uncloaked with a rifle tucked into the pocket of her shoulder, then four more asari emerged from thin air.

Mom and Dad were quiet, but stood from their chairs and thanked their saviors.

"All of you, sit down," said the one who seemed to be the leader, heavier than the other four asari who were lean, mean killing machines.

Before entering into Dad's house, Gia remembered seeing a glint on the hillside that she had automatically assumed was the field of destruction she and Dad had laid waste to with fireworks all those years ago; remnants of glass bottles reflecting the sun's light.

Instead, it was a scope catching the sun.

She had a gun pointed at her.

She did not even know it.

Still breathing heavily, Gia pulled both knees to her chin and curled into a ball as the bigger asari waded through the debris, chunks of drywall, and stepped over Walter's body, still being fed ferocious currents of electricity.

Gia eyed the four asari, clad in dark armor, rifles at the ready—safeties flicked off, fingers resting on the triggers.

The leader bent to her knees, ignored Gia, and grabbed Walter's cheeks, puffing his spittle moist lips out.

"Walter. It's excellent to see you again," said the asari, her voice deep and powerful.

Walter drooled blood on her emerald glove and Gia could see torrents of bitterness and shock ripping through his blue eyes.

Gia saw fire lashing in his irises, great azure sun flares—unchained and out of control.

He knew this woman—they had a history together.

"You can stop shocking him," ordered the heavy asari. "But if he moves without me telling him to do so, put a bullet through his brain. No questions asked."

The taser attachment on the bottom of the asari's assault rifle stopped viciously ticking and Walter released a sigh.

"Gia, I swear to God I will kill you. I swear, the next time I see you, I will not hesitate to pull the trigger. I will hunt you down with the zeal of one-million enraged battle torn men. I am going to tear you apart."

Gia ignored his promise, which terrified her, and said, "Thanks for saving us," to the asari who threw Walter back to the ground.

"Don't move, Gia," said the asari, pressing a pistol to her faceplate. The hard muzzle shrieked against the acrylic orange plate and Gia cursed. She knew her name.

She always wished for people to recognize her—use her name, but not Spectre hunters and assassins.

"We are here for part of you and your dad, Toby Heiko," said the heavy asari to Gia. Her voice was full of menace and intent.

"Warden T'Maad," gasped Walter, blowing blood from his nose. "I guess you told the asari government what I was and who I was possibly hunting after Skave got you arrested back on Illium—at your play palace, Hubris."

Three of the four other asari walked into the house, the fourth searching the premises for more potentially hostile targets, another placing a hardcover box on the table, unlatching it, opening it.

The leader did not respond but smiled smugly at Walter.

Gia got the sense that warden T'Maad and Walter were foes. Gia hoped the heavy set asari would kill him for her.

"How does she know about us?" asked Dad, his voice trembling at these new, unknown adversaries. "Skave is involved? Is he here?"

"I was the warden of the prison where the government kept Walter Spinnaker. Skave and one of his Spectre friends broke Walter out to hunt you down, I take it."

"Skave?" questioned Mom, physically recoiling. "He is still out there, looking for us?"

"I don't know the history you have with the Spectre, Skave, nor do I care," said the asari known as T'Maad. "I am here for your husband and a piece of your daughter." T'Maad glared at one of her agents who silently slid in from outside.

"There are three dead, evidence of a fourth dead as well," said one of the asari commandos. Gia had read about and seen documentaries on them. They are intelligent, efficient, and ruthless when given an objective.

"I was tortured in Hubris, T'Maad's prison," said Walter, wiping his face, putting the commandos on high alert with the movement of his hand. "T'Maad would periodically rape me when drugged up and strapped to a chair. She used to manipulate me with the asari mind-melding process. She deserves to die—needs to rendezvous with infamy."

Walter had propped himself against a wall close to the hallway. T'Maad was the ruthless autocrat, not Walter, but Gia sensed this was not a good thing. This woman was pure evil. The way Walter glared at T'Maad was worse than how he had looked at Gia moments ago. He hated this woman.

"You," yelled T'Maad to the asari who had checked the grounds. "Take the quarian woman outback and shoot her in the head."

Gia protested without thinking and heaved her shoulder into T'Maad's hefty waist, but was tossed effortlessly to the ground. Dad charged the asari who was tasked with killing Mom, but caught a harsh rifle butt to the corner of his eye, sending him sliding face first into the sopping kitchen with a wet _thup-__thump._

On the ground, Gia looked to Walter and mouthed _help_, sure her silver eyes showed silent anguish and gripping terror. Walter nodded his head, his eyes watered with an insatiable desperation to live. For the next several moments, Gia and her hunter would be on the same side.

At least she hoped.

Gia knew Walter wanted to kill T'Maad desperately, but wanted to kill Nashira himself more. Walter wanted the twisted satisfaction of taking Mom away from them—from Gia.

She was sure he would assist in taking them down.

Mom palmed the asari in the face and spun around the table away from the blue soldier. The commando growled and lurched across the table, grabbing mom by the hood, yanking her across the dinner table and onto the floor, ferociously booting her in the head twice.

"Mom!" screamed Gia, crawling to her mother, Gia's two and a half fingers touching Mom's three.

"Be brave, honey," said Mom, her eyes barely open. "Be brave and finish this without me. Be a good girl and do this for me," cried Gia's mom, Nashira Heiko, mother to an alcoholic, mother to a fucked up daughter.

The commando shouted, "_Shut up_," and dragged Mom by the hood while she wildly threw blind punches and kicked at the ground, her hood not over her head, but wrapped around her face and neck, choking her.

Dad was on the floor, dazed and struggling to get to his feet, dotting the wet floor with blood. Scarlet blossoms bloomed in the puddles of sink water, stretching into pink thorns, disappearing. Gia felt a sudden aching loneliness, watching the commando press a boot between Dad's shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground and shoving a barrel into the back of his head.

Mom grabbed onto the edge of the wall, tearing away two fistfuls of drywall away before she disappeared outside.

Her screams were sharp and stretching, drenched in fear, not for her own safety, but for her family. T'Maad's remonstration in keeping the Dreamcatcher family full and healthy was non-existent.

The asari who was fiddling with the hard case was laying out power tools on the table and opened a clear tent of sorts with portholes boasting built in gloves.

Gia had seen something similar in Mom's mechanic shop, a sandblasting case.

Gia, however, had a horrifying idea that this was not that.

The asari took off her armored gloves and walked towards Gia with the tent apparatus.

"What in the hell is that? Get it away from me!" shouted Gia, scrambling away from the twisted blue beast.

"We need your brain, Gia. It's a magnificent weapon that the asari government should have in their arsenal," said T'Maad, keeping close tabs on Walter.

Outside, Mom screamed.

Dad moaned in the kitchen, still out of it, not understanding that his wife was about to be executed under his very nose.

"Don't hit Toby in the head again, you could damage his brain. We need it fully operational," barked T'Maad.

One of the asari commandos flanked Gia, grabbed her, and slammed her onto the table, stealing Gia's breath.

"Quarians are temperamental creatures," started T'Maad, "We do not want to take care of you. Your dad on the other hand, is easy. We need one Dreamcather alive. The other can be a specimen to study. Walter is too dangerous to keep in captivity, so I have been ordered to kill him in trade of forgiveness for my crimes committed at Hubris."

Gia could hear Mom fighting the asari outside—certainly a losing battle.

"My scientist here is a quarian specialist and she is here to cut out your brain for study. It will be quick. All you need to do is breathe in and fall asleep. Painless."

Gia yanked her arms away from the asari behind her, but the commando was too strong. Gia's simmering anger cooled to quiet defeat as the bag slipped over her head and the scientist's hands went to work, decontaminating the enclosed operating place.

Gia bucked and kicked.

Screamed and lashed.

Cursed and thrashed.

Her masked _hissed_ and _popped _off. Gia watched as the clear tent was misted with blood from her wounded mouth as she screamed, tearing her throat, inhaling the sedative gasses pumped through a tube, and screamed again.

Gutted with horror, Gia caught a glimpse of Dad, who stared right back at his daughter's twisted and bloodied gargoyle mask of a face.

His eyes went wide as he struggled against his captor.

The sluice in Gia's heart released a dam of adrenaline into her bloodstream as a high pitched whine of a rotary bone saw winded up, inches from her face.

Gia could hear the asari tell the commando to hold her still for the incision.

They _were _going to cut her brain out.

Outside, a loathsome scream sliced into the house from Mom, followed by a hollow _bang _that shook the shitty chandelier in Dad's intact foyer.

"_Goddamn it!_" detonated Dad, his voice tearing at the seams of his soul. His shout put a worried face on T'Maad for a split second, as if she was afraid of Dad turning into a monster with his unadulterated rage.

His voice had ominous intent.

Retinal memories of Mom flashed at Gia as the sedative began taking effect and the scientist, or mad doctor commando, began undoing the rest of Gia's helmet. Gia tossed a apologetic face at Dad, eyes red with defeat, melting with misery.

That face triggered something in Dad.

It was a spark in a room of hydrogen.

Gia watched Dad stand, throwing the commando to the floor, stomping on her neck, killing her.

He bulged and glowed with apocalyptic power, harboring uncountable strength and hatred. His face was red, eyes bloodshot, lips thin white razors, arms ballooning.

T'Maad reared her weapon to Dad as he slowly charged her with slumberous, massive strength.

Gia's mind's eye flashed images of a blue tongue of flame flickering out of the mouth of T'Maad's rifle, tearing into Dad's fleshy head.

Gia whimpered _Dad_ and shut her eyes as an energetic _roar _ripped through the house.

Gia's eyes shot open, anticipating Dad collapsed on the floor with a jagged crown of torn flesh wreathing his neck. Instead, she watched a police cruiser chomp through the roof of the house, _tearing _two of the four asari to the ground, and _smearing_ them into the slab of concrete under the tile and wooden floors.

The cruiser's back end slipped from the car as it wobbled and stuttered out the sliding doors towards the porch, aimed at the cliff. The glass sliding doors erupted, beads of glass falling over the car like buckets of water. The side of the black and white cruiser shoveled the family room furniture through the patio's wooden railing and off the sheer cliff.

Acting on instincts, Gia stood, ignoring her brain to sit still lest she incite her predators.

Through the front of the house, parting through the dust and spraying water, an apparition of Mom came sprinting through, leaping over shattered chunks of Spanish tile and cabinets, towards Gia.

Gia had gone mad.

A ghost?

No.

She was real.

Alive.

Her touch was beautiful.

"I'm here, honey. I'm here for you, babydoll," said Mom over the gut wrenching noise of the cruiser scraping the house away, coming to a wobbly, shuttering stop.

Gia cried, the salty tears washing away the beast buried deep in her gut.

"_Mommy_," she squealed through her fear clotted throat.

Nashira reached her hands inside of the glove ports where moments ago, an asari's hands controlled Gia's life. For a moment, Mom stared at her daughter's bloodied face through the plastic tent, and wiped a wisp of obsidian black hair away from Gia's eyes.

"You have my lips," whispered Mom.

For a split second, Gia felt as if none of this messed up shit had ever happened.

As Mom assembled Gia's mask, tucking her daughter's black hair into the built in headband, Gia noticed the rotary saw had bit through the plastic casing and Gia was gulping the venomous air.

Mom did not notice.

Gia looked to Walter, who was on the ground, strangling T'Maad.

Her face was pink, eyes red and weeping blood.

He squeezed so hard that both eyes were dangling against T'Maad's temples, the empty sockets' hollow stare glaring at her killer. He seemed to contain superhuman strength, manipulating human flesh to enact the impossible.

Horrified, Gia spurred on Mom.

Gia, with her mask now on, hugged her mother quickly.

Mom hugged her back before Dad ripped the tent off Gia's head, checked her quickly and then grabbed both of their hands and yanked them to police cruiser, the door popped open and Brian's bloody face was beating down on them.

"Get in!" he screamed, holding a hand out. "He's right _behind_ you!"

Dad picked the shotgun off the ground and weapon at waist level, fired a wild shot at Walter, the pellets ripping into his chest.

Gia leapt into the cruiser and Mom plowed into Gia as Brian hit the thrusters, setting fire to the wooden porch. The cruiser whined and Gia, vision blurred with pain, watched as Dad walked backwards, releasing a sewer of irrationality and blasts from his shotgun.

"Get in the vehicle, Dad!" screamed Gia as he turned to fight Walter, the wind from the cruiser's thrusters rippling his wet clothing, beads of water dotting Walter's white and red shirt. Dad fired another shot, but nonchalantly, Walter swiped it away with a biotic blast that tore through Dad's bedroom.

Gia watched his bed, chest of drawers, several walls and shower unit tumble off the cliff shrouded in dust, propelled by biotic energy.

"Dad!" screamed Gia. "Stop fighting it!"

Finally getting the hint that Walter could not be killed by a shotgun, Dad ran and jumped into the cruiser. As he pulled his leg up and over the door sill, Brian hit the thrusters, aiming the vehicle right at Walter.

"Fuckin' suck on this!" shouted Brian, _gunning_ the throttle. The vehicle _jerked _as it hit Walter, but to Gia's disbelief, Walter grabbed onto the windshield wipers and hoisted himself towards the glass, huffing and puffing, blood from his mouth flecking the glass. Walter's weight pulled the nose of the cruiser towards the house and Brian had to readjust, unable to believe what their hunter was doing.

Walter, this Spider, was something from a nightmare—he seemed indestructible and knew no cautious haste. Brian switched on the windshield wiper, trying to swat him off like a bug but to no effect.

"What is this _thing_?" screamed Nashira, yanking the smoking shotgun from Dad's hands and aiming it at Walter's face through the windshield.

With insectile reflexes, Walter avoided the pellets that punched clean through the glass and crawled even further up the car, his bloody torso smearing gore onto the windshield. His polished shoes stood on the crease of the hood as he wound up his arm, his fist boring a hole through the bullet resistant windshield. Brian brought the nose of the vehicle through an untouched piece of roof, trying to scrape the monster from their only way of escape. Wooden planks, the pink dust of shattered Spanish tile, and drywall clouded the windows, blocking all light as they broke free of the house. Clouds of dust hung heavily to the Spider's blood caking the windshield, but no figure of a freak was left on the windshield, only heavy dust and two holes. The house had scraped him off. Gia pressed her head to the right side window and watched Dad's house collapse upon itself, the Spider hopefully inside of the destruction.

"Oh my God," punctuated Dad, embracing Mom who hugged back. "I thought I lost you, babe. I thought you died."

Gia, dazed, trembled in her seat, until Brian grabbed her by the back of the head and screamed, "You _idiot, _Gia! Don't you _ever_ pull shit like that ever again. You hear me?"

Gia pushed his hand away and retaliated, "If it wasn't for me, Uncle Retard, Mom and Dad would be _dead_! Don't lecture me, asshole!"

Brian fumed and rubbed his forehead, zooming off into the white hot horizon.

In the distance, Gia watched a string of police cruisers zip towards Dad's now demolished house.

Detective Landford was true to his word, maybe a little bit early, but he knows Gia.

"Brian, where in the hell did you come from?" asked Dad with Mom wiping his face with the lip of his white undershirt.

"I'll tell you that later," said Brian through the banshee shrieking wind pouring through the holes in the windshield.

"The Spider," panted Mom, "I have never seen anything like that before. His strength, power, and ability to take such punishment. That just… _isn't natural. _Toby, you shot him in the _chest _and he just kept coming."

Brian said, "I faced and killed a Spider back on the Citadel. This one is… _different_."

"You were able to kill one?" asked Gia.

"I had to shoot him twice and break open his skull to put him down. The only reason I killed him was because I had the element of surprise. And Walter killed Pira."

Brian's voice was crushed with anguish, but he reasserted himself in the seat and scratched his head.

Mom put a reassuring hand on Brian's thick shoulder.

"He killed Pira?" asked Dad.

They all knew Pira had been murdered, but not by Walter. This new information made Gia regret ignoring T'Maad's orders and should have finished him off while he was incapacitated.

"Yes."

"How?"

"He was waiting for us in her apartment as we were leaving the Citadel. He almost broke her in half, man. She didn't even know what hit her. I didn't even know what hit her."

"How are you alive?" persisted Dad.

Brian shivered and with his paw, rubbed his face, massaging the frown away into a crooked smile.

"He… let me _live._"

"What?"

"Toby, I don't even really know. He could have killed me with the flick of his wrist, but he said something about how he was trying to elevate me as a predator. Trying to create fair game to hunt. To be hunted. He is a sick fuck I tell you."

"I know this is all very interesting," butted in Mom. "But how are we going to get to the Citadel?"

"We're going _back_?" asked Brian, terror thick in this hefty, well weighted voice.

"Yes, we'll explain it later, Uncle Brian," said Gia, massaging her wrists. She still shook from the shock and trauma she just went through, but it was not just that. Gia had breathed in raw, unfiltered air. She would be feeling sick very soon, but did not want to tell her parents, for it would only delay what had to be done on the Citadel. This mission, this task must be completed even though they did not know what to do once they reached King's Bank.

Dad must have a plan.

He always does.

Gia looked hopefully to him and saw in his eyes that he did not appear confident. Sweat freckled his brow and he closed his eyes as Mom dabbed at his wounds.

"The Spider is worse than Skave," muttered Dad. "In all my years of military, N7, and C-Sec, I have _never _seen anything like that. I have that shotgun modified to shoot bigger slugs at a slower velocity—more punch and take down power, but he just consumed the shot. He should be dead."

"That's terrifying and all, but what are we going to do now? All of Bekenstein is looking for us. We don't have a ride off this planet to get to the Citadel. Why are we going again?" protested Brian.

All four of them were overtaken by silence at this sudden realization.

The spaceport was too hot—they would never be able to get near it.

"Well, it is great to see you again, Brian," said Mom, her head leaning to the left, eyes sharpening to quarter moons.

"It is great to see you too, Nash."

"Thanks for saving my life back there. I didn't see that shot coming from the hills. I owe you one," she continued.

"Not to brag or anything, but I am a pretty good shot with a rifle," Brian gloated, attempting to shatter the somber mood in the cruiser. "Gia is a good shot up close. I mean, Jesus, do you play baseball? You got one helluva arm on you!"

Brian pinched Gia's arm.

"I mean, there is no meat on there or anything. Just bones, like a stripped chicken wing."

"She hit you?" asked Dad.

Brian pointed at his still bleeding forehead.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said. "I got my ass kicked by a sixteen year old, ninety pound quarian."

"I'm _eighteen_, you fat bastard," quipped Gia, chewing on her lower lip. "And weigh more than that," she whimpered.

Brian belly laughed, one so contagious, juicy, and whole that he cracked pathetic snickers from everyone, even Gia.

Gia had to admit, she was thrilled to see him and have another ally in this losing fight—this boost in morale would go a long ass way.

They all needed it after what happened back at Dad's house.

"Wait," declared Gia, gripping the dashboard of the vehicle with both scrawny hands. "I know how to get off planet."

She spun around to face Dad, who was nursing his wounds with a first aid kit he found in the backseat. Gia watched Mom's hands shake and tremble, still jacked with adrenaline. She watched Dad's tanned, bloodied hand clench to a fist, then grabbed hers.

He still wore his wedding ring.

Mom did not.

"How?" asked Brian, nudging Gia in the side. She swatted away his elbow and said, "My C.A.D teacher, Mr. Burns."

"That's the dusty old teacher with the horrible mustache who curses in class, right?" asked Mom, leaning forward, averting Dad's endearing stare.

"I like him," said Dad. "Good guy."

"Yeah, whatever," said Gia, rolling her eyes. "Anyways, I was talking to him yesterday in class and he said he just bought a decommissioned ship and was fixing it over the weekend. So, you know what that means?" asked Gia with a toothless smile. "We have a ride to our objective."

**Toby Heiko's house, Milgrom, Bekenstein**

Walter Spinnaker gripped his chest beneath the rubble. Thick blood oozed between his fingers from the wound he suffered by Toby only moments ago. Through a slat under drywall, Spanish tile, and wood, he watched their cruiser rise into the sun.

He knew where they were going, too. He was going to cut them off and obliterate the four of them without remorse.

Walter taxed his strength and pushed aside the debris, standing, trying to keep afoot on the slippery destruction.

To his right, like a sign from the heavens, his jacket lay atop a solemn kitchen chair—the dark wood parting the sea of red Spanish tile.

Someone above was looking out for him and wanted Walter, their fallen angel, to succeed in his ultimate mission set by God.

He grunted while slinging the jacket over his shoulder and smiled, clasping his chest. Physically, he hurt. Emotionally, he was crushed that they got away, yet at the same time, he would enjoy killing them sometime soon. The anticipation would be worth it, making the climax even more pleasing. It would be marvelous.

Letting Brian go was worth it. Walter was thrilled at seeing how his actions steered the fugitive to almost kill the top hunter in the galaxy. Brian Hilliard has been scraped against a whetstone and Walter was the water on the brick—Brian's lubricant, ever sharpening him.

The fight was now fair. Four well adapted people working together, ever evolving in this electrifying game.

Walter stepped over gnarled limbs jabbing out of the rubble, the dead reaching out to the only living life form around, trying to tear Walter to Hell with them. He let their twisted fingers brush against his legs, taunting their lingering spirits with tactile arrogance.

Throughout the rest of eternity, they would be stripped naked and tortured—defiled and physically burned while Walter, their harbinger, set out to accomplished his holy task while they watched from below.

Spinnaker opened the police cruiser Bekenstein's finest so kindly lent him and lightly sat in the seat, hissing in pain while unbuttoning his shirt. He had left the lights on, and the car, so the air-conditioning was blowing cold. He didn't have a chance to switch the car off when he landed since they took fire on their descent by Nashira and Toby who were waiting for them.

His chest and upper stomach devoured the shotgun blast entirely, the grouping a six inch spread. Toby had modified the weapon to carve off bigger chunks of ammunition, but fire them at a slower velocity. Walter remembered the gunsmithing courses he took in N7 training and it seemed Toby still retained that knowledge and was utilizing it against his opponent.

Walter, while suspended in purgatory at Hubris, had a six month streak of being engrossed by the arts of the Shaolin monks, their fighting techniques, tolerances for pain, manipulating the chi in their body to exaggerated effects, and their legendary meditation. It helped during the sessions and the recovery of pulled toenails, mutilated genitals, and broken fingers. Walter put their technique to use as he saw the shotgun in Toby's hands rear towards him since he did not have the biotic power to kill him and his family.

He found his chi.

Breathing heavily, Walter stared at his chest and watched beads the size of large sand granules fall out of his chest and onto his pants. One by one, they slipped from the scarlet holes in his chest, his broken skin puckering outwards, reminding him of his wife's red wet lips spitting out olive pits.

In the distance, Walter heard sirens, no doubt the police department coming for Gia and the rest of her family.

The sky was cloudless and vast—never ending with the obnoxious heat, as if the star in this system had gone supernova and in mere minutes, the planet was going to be turned into subatomic particles and gas.

"I need a new shirt and pants," said Walter to himself as he watched Milgrom Special Response land and unload a phalanx of black armored men, weapons raised.

Walter waved at Detective Landford and several more law enforcement officers that walked towards his vehicle. Walter peered at himself in the mirror and at the minor damage Gia had inflicted to his face as he was hit with hundreds of thousands of volts.

He scratched the back of his head.

His throat itched and yearned for water.

"Detective," greeted Walter, standing from the vehicle, buttoning his shirt. "How are you doing on this sweltering afternoon?"

Walter swept his hair back and smiled, hand reaching out for the detective to shake.

Instead, the Detective grabbed his wrist, handcuffing both behind Walter's back.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Walter, slightly frustrated, his voice swaddled in annoyance.

"I am placing you under arrest," he said sharply, his bald head glistening with sweat from the sun, his eyes covered in black sunglasses.

"Under what charges?" asked Walter, wincing as Landford shoved him against his vehicle.

The detective ignored him and pushed his suspect into the back of Walter's borrowed vehicle.

"Where are we going?" asked Walter innocently, eyes fluttering with curiosity.

Walter observed the detective nod his head to his other friends and they turned their backs.

"Somewhere secluded," he said back. "Where is Gia? Is she dead in that house?" asked Landford pointing at the debris.

"Unfortunately not."

"Good."

"What are you going to do to me?" asked Walter, his voice trembling.

Landford turned his head and peered at Walter through the drilled panel of thick Plexiglas separating the driver from the occupant.

"I am going to take you out to a field and shoot you in the back of your fucking head."

"Now that is unprofessional," pouted Walter, staring out the window as the thrusters wined to life. "How unprofessional of you. Detective, you should feel ashamed and please, do not curse in my presence."

Walter was saddened by this man's intentions and his lack of obedience and following the department's sworn code of honor. Law enforcement agents making their own rules of how to take care of people should not be allowed to exist. Walter shifted in his seat, picked at his pocket, and stared out the window, watching Toby Heiko's once quaint home disappear from view. Miles out, he could see a cadaverous silhouette of pallid dust and smoke climb higher into the sky, the spirit of Toby's humble home ascend the stairway to Heaven.

"You are not going to die from your wounds, are you?" asked Landford, his voice thick with disgust.

"Why the concern?" asked Walter, feeling another slug tumble out of his wound, falling into his bellybutton.

"If you die in that backseat, I will be disappointed."

"Oh?"

"I want to kill you myself," said Landford.

"Do you believe what Gia says?" asked Walter, not a hint of concern in his voice.

"All the way. She has never lied to me—is always honest, too honest. She serves her heart on a plate, always reveals her full deck, save what happened four years ago. That hurts her too much to talk about, yet you made Gia spill her beans in under five minutes flat."

"I am special," stated Walter.

"Who shot you?" asked Landford, veering towards nothingness, only endless fields and a few silver ribbons of river.

"Toby did."

"Allan?" he asked.

"Yes, though that is his false identity."

"I have never seen someone take a shotgun blast at that close range and live. I saw the grouping on your chest. He was what, eight meters away?"

"I am special," he reasserted. "Someone above is looking out for me, you see?"

"Lucky is more like it."

"Not quite. Do you see my face?" asked Walter, turning his head so Landford could see it in its entirety. "Gia did that to me. Even shot off my earlobe. She assaulted the house singlehandedly—ran amok, went on a rampage to save her parents. Children will do anything for their parents," smiled Walter. "I admit, I was a bit arrogant in my capture of Toby and Nashira. A higher power took my earlobe to remind me I am not invincible and that an eighteen year old quarian can swiftly take my life if I let my guard down. That, I can assure you, Detective, will not happen again."

There was a stale silence as Walter thought about Gia, his little goddess, while shifting in his seat.

"Sit still," shouted Landford.

"My handcuffs are tight," whimpered Walter, gnawing on his tongue. He was able to see Gia's face through the surgeon tent for a split second. It was stricken with fear, bloodied, but wonderful to finally see the most intimate part of a quarian. Under the blood and grime, she would have been easy on the eyes, beautiful, even, with a smile instead of a grimace Walter perceived she always wore. He truly knew her on every level. The black spill of hair over her left eye, her lack of front teeth, and the gash on her upper lip were all characteristics of a defeated warrior, but Gia was not that. She was the opposite.

She was a fighter.

Truly her mother's daughter.

Miraculously, she was still alive, as if God were against Walter and his pursuit.

"Your two little girls, how old are they?" asked Walter.

He could see Landford's shoulders bunch together as if a bucket of iced water hit him.

"How did you know I have two girls?" he asked, watching Walter in his rear view mirror, a stony gaze beneath the shades.

"I saw a picture of your wonderful family sitting on your desk," pushed Walter as Landford descended the vehicle next to a shallow stream. The vehicle bumped and jerked to a stop upon uneven ground and quieted to a hushed whisper, fading to nothing.

"I have two wonderful little girls back home. They are ten years younger than yours, I suspect, but beautiful none the less," dreamed Walter as Landford stepped out of the car and yanked Walter out by the nape of his neck, un-holstering his police issued firearm.

"I cannot wait to see them again, my girls," smiled Walter with a gun pressed to his head as Landford walked him towards the stream.

His heart lifted as the grass in the distance shifted from brown, to a shimmering tawny as a sweet wind rustled through the field. Walter faced the stream which whispered dulcet, viscous phrases to him as the water shined and bubbled over smooth rocks, eroded over time. The water was clear and pure out here, away from the city. Walter squinted and could see the stiletto buildings rising from the great jaw of the horizon.

"I miss my family," admitted Walter. "I would do anything to see them again."

Walter turned to Detective Landford and stared dreamily into his eyes. The detective removed his shades. Landford's eyes were darkened with a patina of anguish, struggling to conceal his inner turmoil. Why he did not shoot him where he stood befuddled Spinnaker. Maybe Landford's arrogance got in the way of survival instinct and he wanted to hear Walter plead.

"Did you check me for any weapons?" asked Walter.

The Detective, as if he knew what was going to happen, stepped back, hand still firm on his handgun.

"Back in Milgrom Intergalactic, after all hell broke loose at the diner, I fell through the front window of the 21 Hour Diner, attacked by Nashira. You watched me get in a fight with one of the Shadow Broker agents, did you not? I used a weapon that I found on the ground, something that tumbled out of Gia's backpack which was ripped open upon my biotic blast. Do you remember what it was I used to stab the agent?"

"It was a tool," trembled Landford.

"A chisel I suspect Gia grabbed from her woodworking teacher's shop to defend herself from someone like me while at school. Such a clever girl."

With the utmost ferocity, Walter's two hands lunged for Landford's neck, free from the restriction of chains. Landford fired a shot at Walter, but was knocked away by the Spider's blow.

The gunshot was absorbed by the vast nothingness.

Walter grabbed Landford by the neck and threw him into the river, his head knocking against a stone, the clear river slowly dyed pink.

Walter walked over to the side of the police vehicle, to the rear door, and pulled Gia's chisel from the ground, which he dropped when stepping out of the car after breaking free of the handcuffs in the backseat.

"As an officer of the law," shouted Walter, bending over to pick up the tool, "I thought you would be more observant, _Detective_."

Walter slowly walked back towards the stream, picked Landford's pistol off the ground, and threw it into the stream not thirty meters away.

"I am somewhat disappointed that you did not see the chain broken," continued Walter, taking off his shoes and socks, while watching Landford struggle to get to his feet, blood pouring from a gap in his nonexistent hairline. The detective saw the white geyser the pistol made upon landing in the stream. His face was panicked and did not resemble the once brave and in control man that had handcuffed him five minutes ago. Walter took off his shirt and set it on top of his leather shoes, then stripped his pants and silk underwear, now standing naked before the detective. He picked up the chisel and looked it over with a contemplating face.

Walter threw it into the ground, unsatisfied with it. Landford, now tranquilized by dread, resembling more a cornered animal, watched Walter's every move. He stood in the stream wearing his sopping wet Kevlar and nano-carbon fiber bullet resistant vest, kinetic barriers activated, ready to fight. His sleeves dripped water into the stream, rippling the rather calm brook, distorting the charcoal, clay, and mahogany river stones.

"Have you ever read _The Most Dangerous Game_?" asked Walter, slowly walking towards Landford who stood in the stream, pacing backwards as Walter approached. Walter opened his arms and let the blood run free from his torso. "Man pitted against man with weapons that shoot projectiles. I want to take this a step backwards and feel the sensation of killing the most dangerous game with the most primal weapons: bare hands."

Walter stepped in the cool water, the river rocks warmed from the sun.

"Humans fight better when there is something to protect, like loved ones. You, Detective, are fighting for your wife and two daughters, for if you do not kill me, I swear to God I will walk into your protective house after I am done here and throw them out the window of your high rise."

Walter smiled as he watched Landford turn and trudge downstream for the gun Walter threw in the brook. Landford was silent with determination.

The Spider ran after him.

**West Milgrom, Bekenstein**

Mr. Burns lived in a little house with a spanning piece of property. He had shamefully told Gia that he was a trust fund kid, but did not want to become a "useless piece of shit," so he finished college with an engineering degree, picked up Moto GP racing, designed racing bikes, then settled down to teach high school.

He never regretted a moment in his life.

Brian set the vehicle down on Mr. Burns' dirt road right outside of a hangar that housed his vehicles, bikes, and new spaceship.

"I told him I would stop by this weekend," said Gia. "He is expecting me," she finished, carefully getting out of the car. "Just… follow my lead. He'll be happy to see us, but should be confused by the bleeding gorilla."

"_Ha-ha_, very funny, Gia," quipped Brian.

"I'm sorry the gorilla can't fly a car without missing a house."

"Your sense of humor doesn't go away after near death experiences, does it?" asked Brian, following Gia's lead toward a hollowed steel door at the front of the hanger. "What goes on in that egg of yours?"

"I don't know, it's scrambled."

Gia turned to check on Mom and Dad, to make sure they were okay.

"Mom, Dad, you alright?" she asked, limping towards them.

"Yeah, I think so," said Mom, in a whisper.

"We can do this," said Gia.

"I know we can, Gia. Your daddy and mommy have gotten through something similar to this."

Gia said to Dad, "I know. It's just… I'm scared."

"Me too."

Gia used her elbow to knock on the door. Her hands were in no good condition to rap bone against steel, nor were her wrists. It felt like her fingernails were peeling off as well.

"Goddamn, it's brutal outside," commented Brian. Insects chirped in the dead grass as the sun was directly above them. Gia checked her watch for the time.

Almost ten hours left until whatever the Spider was trying to conceal was going to go off in their faces. At Dad's house, Walter said they had eleven hours until... well, they didn't know what was going to happen.

They still did not know what to do or what exactly they were looking for.

Gia was kicking the gravel and waiting for Mr. Burns to open the door, when a familiar face peeked through the window.

Gia smiled, while Dad and Mom waved, putting a reassuring hand on their daughter's shoulders.

"Gia, Allan, Nash, and stranger, how are you all doin'?" he asked, clasping onto a bowl of nachos. "You stopped by just in time for lunch, come on in," greeted Mr. Burns.

He still wore his blue and tan flannel, but they were not tucked into his tight blue jeans. He was more casual at home. One Halloween, Gia remembered Mr. Burns coming into class dressed in presentable pants, a long sleeve button up shirt and a tie. He said he dressed as a teacher for Halloween.

What a weird human holiday.

His hangar was massive, the cement slab painted oyster gray, flecked with pearly metallic chips. Motorcycles, flying cars, workshops, heavy equipment, and of course, the new ship he purchased scattered the twenty thousand square feet hangar. His sound system was blaring grungy biker music and his skylights let in all natural light. There was no need for his electric bulbs to be on today with this kind of sun. The air-conditioner whirred, surely getting its workout.

"I thought you promised me you were going to rocket club?" asked Mr. Burns, mouth full, fingers greasy.

"Obviously, I didn't hold my promise."

"It's okay, Gia."

"No, it's really not. What is also unforgivable is seeing cheddar cheese on corn chips. Use Mexican melting cheese, you oaf."

"This is what I had in the refrigerator," shot back Mr. Burns.

"You have millions. If you like nachos, you might as well use nice cheese."

Mr. Burns ignored her elitist food ideals and asked, "Who is the big fella?"

"Me?" asked Brian, pointing a finger at his thick chest.

"Yeah, you."

"I am Gia's uncle, or Tob-_Allan's_ best friend," said Brian.

Mr. Burns finished chewing his bite while the four of them stood in silence, watching him lick his fingers. Brian knew Mr. Burns was scrutinizing her uncle, a protective glint flashing in his eyes.

"Okay, I am going to have to ask: what in the _hell _happened to you all? Are those bullet holes in your hood, Gia?"

"Mullet holes?" she asked.

"What?"

"What in the hell is a mullet hole?" she asked, tasting blood.

"Are you playing with me?" he asked.

"Are _you _playing with me?"

"No, _bullet holes._"

"Oh, those."

Gia tapped the side of her helmet with an open palm. The gunshots must have messed something up.

"Yeah, bullets, like the things that come out of a gun."

"Sorry, I lost most of my hearing in a firefight," she said with a weak smile.

Mr. Burns laughed and said, "Okay, whatever. You all look like hell. Did someone jump—"

Mr. Burns stared at Mom's face mask, and Gia followed suit. A fine blue spray freckled Mom's sky-blue smoked veil, blood from the asari that Brian shot from the hills.

"And," said Gia slowly.

"…oh, did you all get jumped?"

"Something like that—"

Mr. Burns pointed at his own face while glaring at Mom curiously. "Is that blood from… an asari? It's blue."

"Yeah, Uncle Brian shot one that was about to execute Mom," Gia butted in, putting an arm around Mr. Burns' frail shoulder. "Can you show us your project?"

"Well, _sure_, but what happened to you all?"

"Like I said, we were in a firefight."

"Seriously, Gia, stop with the sarcasm. Was there a car crash? Were you all in a wreck?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah, you could say that."

Gia turned around with a finger over her mouth.

_Like I said, I got this._

"That's quite a nice freighter," commented Mom, pointing at the ship.

Gia had to concur. The outside was in great condition, but must be better on the inside, or why would he have bought it? Gia did not know or care. All she wanted to do was lay down for a bit and rest. She felt a fever coming on and through the ache of being physically thrashed, she was starting to feel an infection follow. It would hit in full force sometime soon. The mission was their priority, not her stupid health.

The frigate was gunmetal gray with orange and white decals. It spanned close to eighty meters and was less than half that wide. It looked like it was a quick little devil with an outdated FTL drive that lagged behind the more advanced stuff, but with the thrusters, she was still considered high performance.

"She's a good one. Strong, mighty, and healthy," said Mr. Burns. Gia watched Mom pat the belly of the ship, her eyes closing. Gia knew she was at home. Dad and Brian followed Mr. Burns into the fuselage, and she could still hear him rattling off specs on the ship.

"She can carry a lot of cargo and ten passengers safely. She is like a civilian corvette. I still cannot get the autopilot working, though."

"Who needs autopilot," shouted Gia into the open door. "Can I fly it?" Gia asked, trying to get a clue as to whether or not the ship was in flying order.

"Sure, give me thirty minutes and I can take you all for a ride. Sadly, the FTL is down, but the engines purr and growl. Nash, you should like it," said Mr. Burns, poking his head out of the decontamination door.

"What's her name?" asked Mom.

"_Aurora_."

In bright orange letters, Gia read the ship's name. If her Roman mythology was not stale and rotten, which she was sure it was, Aurora was the goddess of dawn, who would fly across the night sky to greet the new day's sun. Gia wished to see one more sunrise after today. Every morning, she watched it rise from a seraphic view right outside the 21 Hour Diner window, across and over the tarmac of the runway. Growing up on the Citadel, she got to see her first sunrise hours after her arrival to Bekenstein ten years ago. Somber blue, bursting sprays of pink, ribbons of red and orange, like thick confetti, blotted the sky. Mom and Dad were in love, they had a new life, everything perfect.

Set to be demolished.

"Mr. Burns, what do you say we take a ride over to the Citadel for the weekend," asked Gia, touching the name of the ship—their only passage of escape.

"Oh, I would love to, but I can't. I'm not sure if the ship can go that far. I mean, I am fairly confident it can, but not one-hundred percent sure. I don't want to pit it against a mass relay this early," he said, stepping out of the door.

Gia coughed blood onto the inside of her mask and Mr. Burns watched it happen. His dark eyes swelled with concern.

"That's not good, Gia."

"Gia!" shrieked Mom, running to her daughter's side.

Gia pushed her off. "I'm fine, really. I am missing some teeth, that's all. He hit me hard."

"How bad of a crash did you get into?" asked Mr. Burns, still clasping onto his nachos.

"What's wrong with Gia?" asked Dad, trotting to her side.

"I swallowed some blood, nothing is wrong. I am good to go. We _need _to go," said Gia, her voice deepening, getting harder.

"Go where?" asked her teacher. "What happened to you guys?"

His mustache quivered and he jumped when he heard a metal _clack_ behind him.

Brian brandished his sidearm and Dad stared at Gia's favorite teacher.

"I have money," he said. "I love you guys like family. I can help you."

"The only way you can help us is if you fly us to the Citadel," said Dad, putting a hand on Mr. Burns' shoulder. "We don't want to harm you. We're fiends, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure. Friends."

Gia limped to her teacher, her inspiration, and hugged him.

"I wasn't expecting this," said Mr. Burns.

"The gun was a scare tactic, I'm sorry," said Brian, stretching his hand towards Mr. Burns. "I'm Brian Hilliard, former CSSR and N7. Over Gia's shoulder, Mr. Burns shook Brian's thick, padded hand.

"I just got a hug from the most sour, bitter, and achingly lonely and detached girl in the galaxy."

Gia snorted and slapped Mr. Burns in the chest.

"You're lucky I don't smash those nachos into your face," she snickered, her lungs burning, chest muscles straining and knotting up.

"So why are we going to the Citadel?" asked Mr. Burns. "I at least deserve the truth if I am doing you all a favor."

Everyone was blank faced, silent, voices strangled with an unknown certainty when Dad spoke up.

"We are going to rob King's Bank."


	11. Chapter Ten - Adrenaline

**The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter Ten - Adrenaline**

**The Citadel, Zakera Ward**

Walter Spinnaker dragged both weary feet outside his home. It was a haven that had not harbored its master in a little over two years. For the first time in a long while, Walter actually felt a foreign weight hook through his eyelids and pull.

He was tired and had not slept since he was unleashed from his cell in Hubris. Several cat naps, no more than ten minutes each, had taken place in between for he could not have a Dreamcatcher intrude upon his thoughts and probe his secrets. He took precautions. He was discrete and left no footprints in the snow, only bloodstains and broken bones.

His enemies still wandered free: Gia, Nashira, Toby, and an unknown fourth Dreamcatcher. He could not let them get the upper hand. The Heikos had already seen and seized several opportunities to weaken Walter, but he always had their backs facing the ledge and now they were holding on for dear life with only the tips of their fingers. Yes, they were going to climb back up, but he was going to be waiting for them and kick them over when they least expected it.

Having the top resources disposable to him, he was able to catch a ship back to the Citadel after killing Detective Landford in the stream back on Bekenstein.

It was the most pure kill he had ever made, proof staining the creases around his fingernails traced in a maroon crust. For millions of years, animals back on Earth had killed using nothing more than the weapons they were born with. Walter felt that the conditioning humans have undergone over the thousands of years of evolution molded from technology did not apply to him. There was something primitive, yet refined, that gave him an edge where the others had been dulled by the constant drone of technological evolution.

His adversary, Gia Heiko, could not live without artificial implants and an exoskeleton composed of "man-made" materials. Stripped, she would die within hours.

Naked, unarmed, and out in the wild, Walter was able to kill a decorated law enforcement officer and finish off his family of two daughters, wife, and their three chocolate labs with nothing more than a jump rope found in their garage and a kitchen knife from the sink.

Daughters.

Family.

Walter ached to get inside of his house and rest his lips on his daughter's sleeping cheeks. He wanted to tuck their platinum hair behind an ear and pull blankets over their slumbering shoulders.

Walter tapped the code into the holographic lock and the door _clicked _open.

The smell of home made his insides bunch up like tangled bungee cords—they stretched, shrunk, and stretched again.

It was dark and the household was asleep, resting for the next day that lay ahead. On the Citadel, it was in the middle of the school week, so his two daughters were going to be waking soon.

When they wake, Walter will cook them breakfast, persuade them to pack, and get off the station as soon as possible, for they would not survive what is coming. They would be safe on Earth, in Paris, with Walter's leftover family.

His home was a two story apartment, circular in shape with a one-hundred and eighty degree window glaring out over the Citadel towards the Presidium tower. A kitchen with industrial quality equipment was to his left and a solo lamp flicked on next to the refrigerator, welcoming any late night visitors to the refrigerator if need be. His wife had not changed the furniture around.

It was just like they left it two years ago.

Walter took off his _Zoya and Sons_ shoes, sorted the pile of shoes by the coat closet door, and chuckled, satisfied with himself.

His two daughter's shoes were so small compared to his.

Walter's stomach retaliated, so Walter satisfied the revolution inside by going to the refrigerator. With Dad gone, his family had stopped cooking. A lot of prepackaged meals and soda lined the interior of the cooler, so a jar of Israeli olives would have to suffice.

His stomach enjoyed them and their briny, lip puckering taste.

Delicious.

The windows were dim, letting in subtle blue light from outside, painting the red trimmed, anthracite furniture a marina gray, splashed by an ocean spray of nebulous light. A fan spun over head, ticking harmoniously.

Walter enjoyed teasing his senses with delaying delightful occasions. He would save kissing his daughter's cheeks and waking his wife for later. He must first address his wounds more carefully and contact Ms. Strong on the situation that had unfolded. Walter peeled off his socks and stood on the slate floor that covered the entire first floor.

The chill was comforting after the blistering heat that had been broiling Bekenstein to a crisp. Walter sighed as he closed the door to the bathroom, and sat on the ledge of the taupe quartz bathtub while unbuttoning his bullet pocked shirt. The blast was not as painful as Walter had imagined. Maybe it was his tolerance for pain he accumulated in Hubris or his experimental dabbling in monk training. He had never been shot before, only tortured.

No one had even come close to shooting Walter, save for Gia, Nashira, and finally Toby, who hit him square in the chest, Gia clipping his ear with a very close shot that nearly ended his life.

His goddess; his Aurora, was not going to go out without a fight.

The wounds were scabbed over, but healed.

Walter knew he was a very special man and that a higher power was looking after him from above. Someone had gifted his body and he welcomed it.

Walter whispered a blessing and gently folded his destroyed shirt. Other than that, the rest of his suit was untouched, just a bit dirty.

When T'Maad and her commando escorts showed up to take out the Heikos and remove Gia's brain, Walter was stunned to see his old keeper. What were the chances that she would appear at the Heiko household with himself at the same location at that very moment?

Walter knew that He was proving his very existence and that she was to be taken out.

Hot water spilled out of the sink and Walter fetched a golden towel and the first aid kit from under the sink. From a shell shaped dish, he scraped up a hot chocolate and coconut scented handmade soap bar and scrubbed his hands.

Pink swirled in the basin of the sink, blood from Detective Landford, his family, and three dogs. The bite mark on his right arm from the canines' fangs was just a beaded white horseshoe of scars. In the mirror, Walter paused to watch his water jeweled face stare back. Color had begun coming back, but his eyes were heavy with setback and a minor defeat. A scab was forming under his right eye where Mrs. Landford scratched his face as he repeatedly plunged a ten inch fillet knife into her neck. Walter set the police rifle he scavenged from Landford's vehicle onto the counter. Even through the soft rifle case, it clattered densely onto the sink top. He unzipped it, flicked the safety off, and propped it against the door.

For the first time in a long while, he was taking the same precautions that prey would. Walter admitted that he was shaken but not scared.

Never.

What interested Walter even more was the appearance of Brian Hilliard, who he had left barely alive in Ms. Pira T'Estoni's apartment. Brian had elevated himself to a worthy adversary and Walter was impressed with his heroic actions. Only a maniac would drive a vehicle into a house in order to save his friends.

Brian was reckless and had nothing to lose—he was dangerous now, as were the Heikos.

Walter scratched the back of his head at the furiously burning itch right above his neck's hairline. Blood matted down a section of his hair and he had no idea where this wound had come from.

It continuously bled unlike his other more serious ones.

Walter jumped in the shower to wash off the death, grime, sweat, and defeat. He watched several more deformed pellets push themselves out of his body and slowly make their way into the drain. It looked like volcanic pebbles falling from his chest.

It still did not hurt.

Toweling off, he called Ms. Strong on his omni-tool to break the exciting news. His heart hammered harder than it had in the firefight with Gia.

"Strong speaking."

Her voice was slightly shaky, not from fear, but from excitement. She was going to be there with front row seats when the plan makes an explosive entrance.

"It's Walter."

"Walter," she gasped, "Are they dead?"

Her voice was cold, sharp, and directly to the point.

"No," he said, frowning.

"What do you mean?"

"They are not dead."

"How?"

"I was lenient on them. It won't happen again, yet this makes the game more exciting, does it not?" he whispered in the bathroom, brushing his eyebrows with a wet thumb.

She was silent on the other line and Walter could feel a pulsating, sucking void ripping at his confidence. The silence was condescending.

"This is _not_ a game, Walter."

"Yes, it is. We are playing the Heiko family—_I _am playing them, toying with them in a way that can tear them apart. I have punctured threads through their hands, feet, joints, and heads and am controlling them with an operating cross. I am their puppet master and when I do kill them, it will be rewarding for both parties and much more satisfactory when it comes down to the wire." Walter smacked his lips and paused, seeing if she had anything to say.

She did not speak, so Walter continued, "By the way, I know where they are going and I know when they are going to be there. They will not see me coming."

"Just get it done and I don't care what kind of sick games you play with them."

"Yes ma'am."

"In the next couple of hours, I am going to leak a bit of information that will cause panic and conspiracy theories that will literally create a rift between humans and non-humans."

Walter nodded in agreement.

"I heard that the hit band Blue Lights are playing at Zakera park on the tip of the Citadel. Tickets are free. Thousands will turn up."

"I know," she said.

"Ms. Strong, it has been a pleasure working with you. Your brilliance is awe inspiring."

"We make a lethal team."

"That we do," said Walter, combing his hair back and tightening the towel around his waist.

"When it goes off, we will have singlehandedly sparked a galactic conflict."

"Indeed."

"Do you think they will do it? Do you think they will order them to close?"asked Walter, cleaning his ears with swabs.

"If I can convey the proper message, yes, they will close."

"That will enhance it. A closed space is always more lethal."

"That is the plan."

"Out of curiosity, where is the other Spider? Where is Funnel Web?" asked Walter.

"Setting his web," said Ms. Strong. "And Walter?"

"Ma'am?"

"Don't disappoint me again," she said, her voice slicing right into Walter's skull and hung up.

Walter really liked her.

He needed to take care of what he should have done right when he walked through the door, but as he grabbed his coat, a hardened object poked a scab. Rifling through his pockets, he found Thomas Paine's _Common Sense_. In the back of the book was an advertisement for another one of Paine's essays called _The Crisis_. Walter never bothered reading it for when he finished _Common Sense_, he was enraged at the man because he made him question his belief. He flipped through the December 23, 1776 essay and landed on a quote by the great American writer.

"_The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value. I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress and grow_."

Walter saw himself in these words and through the fogged mirror, caught a flicker of arrogance in his electric eyes. He must not let this emotion run rampant, for it would surly get him killed. Gia, or one of her companions, would finish him off without batting an eye, he knew that much.

Gia, his little goddess, would try to stop Walter even if she did not know how. Walter had never looked up to a single person as much as her.

Her tenacity and willpower alone was more than anything he has ever witnessed in any Spectre or military contractor. She was an eighteen year old quarian girl with a future ending in a flash and a gunshot.

His arrogance had gotten to him as of late, especially when facing the Heiko trio. Next time he encounters them, and he is sure he will be seeing them in the next couple of hours, he will kill them without remorse, just like they would do to him.

But for now, these next several hours are his.

Towel still around his waist, he jammed the folded rifle between the towel and the small of his back, stepped out of the bathroom and ascended a spiral staircase towards the bedrooms on the second floor. There were three bedrooms, each taking up a third of the second floor, like a thirty-three percent chunk from a pie graph. His heart beat barreled forward and exploded from pent up elation as he cracked the bedroom door to his two daughter's room.

Walter bit the back of a hand and felt his throat snap shut, eyes burning hot with tears. His two babies were bigger now, but still precious and fragile. Walter silently stepped through his children's bedroom door in order to just lay eyes upon their sleeping faces one more time before heading to Mommy's room. Both girls looked like porcelain dolls curled under the blankets, their skin glowing like soft baked clay under the pale moonlight. The chilled bolt of the rifle pressed into his back as he bent down to kiss each of them on the cheek. They stirred and turned over, sleepy eyes heavy with the Sandman's grainy mixture. One day, his two daughters were going to be Gia's age. He could not imagine what it would feel like if someone better than him was tasked to kill his children.

Walter's respect for Toby and Nashira exponentially boosted. A mother and a father would prove difficult to deal with when their beautiful, most important object was in a life threatening situation. This was going to make Daddy even more powerful than he once was.

Walter's face suddenly contorted with free flowing crushing fear when… he could not remember his two daughters' names.

Oh God, what were their names?

Frustration tranquilized him and he closed his eyes, and saw not happy faces, but blank sheets of paper, taught skin pulled over bone; no eyes, no mouth, no nose.

He could not remember their faces.

She sighed and that was enough to persuade Walter to open his eyes.

One of them sat up in bed and blinked, both elfin fists rubbing away the sleep. Walter muttered throaty gasps and hugged his daughter, tears oozing from his eyes.

"_My baby_," he gasped and reached in for a hug. His daughter was limp in his embrace and he could feel her heart panicking.

"_It's your daddy,_" he whispered, flecking her bedspread with thick spittle.

He wept when he could not remember her name. Not moments ago, he could remember it. Every night he spent laying in his faux bed centered in his artificial bedroom, he pictured their faces and traced their names in the air with a broken finger.

His daughter struggled and said, "Who are you?"

_Who are you?_

Walter lightened his grip and with a hardened face, pulled away from his bundle of joy and happiness.

"I am your daddy, honey. It's me, I am back. For two years, I promised myself that I would come back."

"You're not my daddy," whispered Walter's daughter. With a trembling hand, he pulled her hair back into a pony tail and reached for a scrunchy on her bedside table. He wanted to stare at that face and gorge on her every emotion.

"What do you mean, babydoll?"

"Daddy is there with Mommy," she said, puzzled and scared yet curious.

Did she move on with her life?

Did… Jesus, what is her _name_? What is his wife's name? What does she look like?

Walter shook his head and stood, fingers balled into a fist and trembling with an emotion he had never felt before.

Betrayal.

"Stay here, precious. I will be right back," he said through hard pressed lips as he tip-toed out of the room, closing the door behind himself.

It must be a prank.

Walter laughed out loud at himself and at his daughter. She had developed a sense of humor over the past two years. It was a twisted one, but nonetheless, she was maturing.

It was beautiful.

She was beautiful.

Everything was beginning to work out.

With monstrous strides, Walter strode down the sickle shaped hallway. To his right, the wall was paneled in glass overlooking the city. Their apartment was cantilevered over the edge of the building, so even the floor was glass and he could see hundreds of stories down towards the Citadel city streets. The windows were polarized cyan, but Walter, with a wide grin, was beginning to see only in red.

A tear raced down his cheek and lagooned in his cleft chin.

He burst out laughing once more and opened the door to his bedroom.

It was just like he left it two years ago and was a mirror image of the one they built into his cell at Hubris.

"Who's that laughing in the hallway?"

The voice weakened Walter's knees, turned his joints into gelatin and his heart bloomed into a pulsing rose—a sobbing pillow of honey.

There she was, sitting in bed.

Gorgeous.

She flicked on the bedside lamp.

The light was dim.

The shadows of her high cheekbones and long blonde hair pulled at his stomach.

She was the most beautiful woman in the entire galaxy. The way her silver nightgown stretched over her bony ankles was achingly attractive. She was the perfect woman and the best he had ever seen in this populated galaxy.

"I'm home," he said, arms open, waiting for her to leap into his chest and sob and kiss and whisper.

"Jack!" she screamed.

"No, it's your husband," he whispered, slowly approaching her.

"_Jack_!" she screamed yet again, clutching the golden comforter, whipping it like a rider would spur their horse into a full gallop. Her face was stricken with horror as if she had never seen him in her entire life, but then, in a grip of surprise, her face hurdled to an appearance of sudden recognition.

"Oh my god, it's _you_."

Walter's eyes snapped to movement to her right and a man stood from the bed, clapping to turn his bedside light on. When Walter laid his eyes on the man with a scruffy gray and blond beard, long bleached hair and blue eyes, it felt as if he had been hit by a sledgehammer right above his heart.

"Why?" asked Walter, his arms lowering. "I… it was not my fault. I was _taken_!" screamed Walter, his fists shaking.

The man opened both hands and coolly said, "Whoa there big man, are you a MTRD?" he asked Walter, hands fanned out as if cooing a rabies stricken dog.

"What are you talking about?" shouted Walter.

"Melissa, is he one of your MTRDs?" shouted Jack, now pointing at Walter with his back pressed to the wall.

Walter stared at his wife for answers, eyes clogged with tears of desperation and confusion.

"Tom?" she asked to Walter.

"What are you talking about? Please, tell me," sobbed Walter, slowly strutting towards the couple of whom did not know him—towards his wife of ten years who knew every secret, every detail of his life, knew his favorite color, understood how he like to be treated when sad, and knew his favorite authors and quotes.

"Who is he?" asked Walter, pointing towards the man named Jack. "Are you two in a relationship?" he asked, drooling and slobbering. "Did you forget me?"

"Walter, is that you?" asked his wife.

"_Yes_!"

"Oh Christ, get a gun!" she screamed to Jack. Walter, stunned and stupefied, watched Jack, Mellissa's new partner spin towards the bathroom, skidding to all fours on the tile.

"Get back!" screamed his wife, retreating into a corner as Walter dragged his feet towards her. He felt his towel slide off and almost tripped on it. He did not care, all he wanted was the truth—answers about what had happened between them and why their inseparable relationship was sawed to pieces.

"My daughters and now my wife do not recognize me? Both fear me? What has happened?" wheezed Walter, collapsing to his knees and kissing his wife's feet.

"Don't you move!" shouted the man known as Jack, returning with a sidearm pointed at Walter's bowed head. Walter analyzed the man. He was not professionally trained. His hand placement was cup and saucer, just like in the movies. The barrel trembled in his hands. Who was he?

"Shoot it, Jack. _Shoot it_!" screamed his wife.

Walter faced the man and watched his finger yank the trigger. A bullet struck Walter in the chest and he could feel it tumble out of his back and into the wall. From the other room, Walter could hear his daughter's screaming from the gunshot. Like a spider, Walter leapt across the bed and tackled Jack, both tumbling towards the floor, the gun sliding several feet away.

"Grab it!" yelped Jack as Walter pounced onto of this intruder. Walter wound an arm and sent a haymaker right into Jack's mouth. Walter felt his fist punch through the man's teeth and jaw. He could not tell if his knuckles brushed the back of Jack's skull or the floor behind his head. Heaving and spitting, Walter stood, his naked form shadowing Jack's convulsing body.

"You monster!" detonated his wife, both quivering hands clenching the pistol. In the dark, obscure room, Walter could see the reflection of the heatsink glowing red in his wife's dark eyes.

"I never should have done this," she whispered. "Girls, run!" she screamed and fired another shot into Walter. He could feel it burn, but it did not take him down.

What had possessed his wife?

Why did she leave him for another man?

Walter grabbed the gun from her hand and hugged her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear in an attempt to cool her down—splash her with a cold bucket of reality.

"I am back and I am not angry with you," he whispered into her ear.

With all her might, she screamed into his ear and bit it.

"I am not angry with you," he repeated, eyes somber and relaxed. "It is okay. I still love you. I forgive you."

His wife continued to fight and laid eyes on Jack, whose body was curling up with his muscles tensing as his brain was firing last minute signals to his appendages telling them it was game over. Walter glared at his right hand's knuckles which snaked around Melissa's left shoulder. Pieces of teeth were jutting from his fist.

"Forever, I will love you no matter what," whispered Walter, grabbing the gun and pushing it against Melissa's skull. With an animalistic bellow, her frail body fought in a last ditch effort to escape his maniacal clutches.

"I see it now," he whispered over her growls. "You will never accept me for who I am and what happened to me. You will never forgive my actions, but I will tell you this: I love you. I always will love you no matter what happens. God has a set path for me—a rendezvous with destiny. This _must _be part of his plan. I hope it is part of his plan."

"_God_? You believe in a higher power?" cried Melissa, too weak to fight Walter's bolt sheering power and strength. "What have I done? What have I created?"

"You have created a _monster_, my love."

Walter watched his wife's eyes roll over white from the explosive power of the pistol's transfer of energy. He closed his eyes, fell to the floor on both knees and cradled his wife's pulsating cadaver and cried like he had never done before.

He cried and screamed until there was no more voice left, rather a wet and raspy whistle. He kissed her ragged, broken lips and tasted her blood and his own salty tears of throbbing anguish.

A pathetic whimper at the doorway tore away Walter's attention away from his wife's body and there he saw both daughters standing at the doorway, mouths agape, eyes red and slick.

"Girls, come to Daddy," he whimpered.

The both nodded _no._

Walter raised a gun to their pristine and shockingly gorgeous faces and said, "Listen to Daddy. Don't disobey me."

Walter set his wife down on the floor and let both of the girls set their heads against his neck.

"That's a good girl," he breathed and hugged them. "I will see you in the afterlife. You must leave now and await my return." Walter coughed and burbled a tacky mixture of saliva and mucus. "I love you both very much. I hope you loved me back."

He hugged them harder than he had ever done before and cried over their screeches of pain.

"It's almost over. _Shhhhhh_, shush now my babies. It is done now, do not worry. It is all done. Just relax. Let Daddy do the work."

All three of them howled in pain until only Walter was left screaming and his little darlings had gone limp and heavy in both arms.

He set them down next to Mommy and placed their little hands over their chests and wiped the bloody drool from their pale faces and kissed all three of them on the lips. Walter ripped the comforter off his bed, laid it next to his wife, and pulled the thick golden blanket over the four of them. He grabbed his wife's hand, kissed the ring on her finger, and fell asleep.

For the next couple of hours, he was going to spend time with his family and recover from the arduous day. When he wakes, he will be ready for what lays ahead—be ready for his little goddess, his Aurora, to arrive and meet the sunrise.

He will be waiting for them.

**SSV Aurora, Widow Nebula**

Gia came roaring back to life, yet her eyes were still closed and listening to Brian and Dad talk about their past, catching up on what had been lost. Her skin was flushed hot and she felt slick—the sickness seeping into her veins and poisoning her blood. She felt tender and mashed, but she dared not say anything to her parents. She could not afford to put them off course. Gia opened her eyes and could feel that she ended up on her side, in her mom's lap. Three fingers not hers gently dangled in front of her eyes and she could feel Mom's stomach pushing against the back of her head, then sucking back.

Repeat.

It was soothing and had cooed her to sleep, but physically she trembled, both from the fever and anticipation of what loomed in their future.

The end was near.

"Did we pass through the mass relay?" asked Gia, her voice groggy and weak. Eyes closed, she sensed the conversation crash and pile up, all eyes affixed on Gia.

"Yes, honey," whispered Mom.

"I told you to wake me up, I wanted to see it," said Gia, readjusting herself, cracking open her eyes.

"You need to rest. What lies ahead of us requires you to be at your best."

She was right. But Gia had always wanted to feel the sensation of being catapulted through space at blinding speeds.

"Mom?" asked Gia, looking into her cold, blue mask.

"Yeah?" blinked Mom.

"How long was I asleep for?"

"Ten hours. The_ Aurora's _faster than light drives are not working, so we are flying by propulsion power. It's slow, but we can make it in time."

Gia yanked her arm away from Mom to check on the time. The face of her analogue watch winked devilishly at her as she thumbed away drywall debris.

"A little less than three hours left until the clock ticks to zero," Gia whispered, shutting her heavy eyelids, closing the curtain on the crowd, stricken with stage fright and fearing her future.

The _SSV Aurora_ was a humble ship and was made with a budget in mind and limited comfort. There were ten passenger seats in the fuselage, two seats running laterally on each row upholstered in cracked and heavily used navy blue vinyl. The walls were painted in a sickening light blue paste, yellowing at the edges, and Gia picked up on subtle cigarette smoke; stale, not from Mr. Burns who was a two packer. The white and blue checked carpet was graying and the woven threads pigtailed skyward in an erratic fashion. It reminded Gia of Norry's unkempt hair.

She wanted to vomit.

How dare Walter.

Dad and Brian laughed at stories of boot camp back on Earth, both sitting on the floor of the ship drinking bottles of water. They were surely dehydrated from Bekenstein's heat and their massive exertions of strength and heroics displayed planet side.

Dad nodded at Gia and continued: "Remember our TI, The Grape?" asked Dad, wiping tears from his face.

"How can I _not_ remember that guy? Shit, I swear he was a gorilla who learned how to grunt a limited vocabulary, killed a human, and skinned him so he could train human soldiers in disguise."

"When we went into the tear gas chamber, do you remember that?" asked Dad, taking a leisure sip from his bottle.

"Yes! He came in without a mask and was freakin' shouting at us, eyes open, snot dribbling from those wide nostrils, and vomited while screaming at us recruits. Jesus, he was a mad man. Who in the hell does that?"

Brian's hearty laugh forced a smile on Gia's cracked lips. They throbbed and stung from the blows she received from Walter. Without that mask, she would have died.

"And when we had to take the masks off and run outside of the chamber, there was that _big ass_ oak tree right out the door that half the cadets ran right into and broke their nose," snorted Dad.

Gia felt Mom chuckling.

"Oh man, good times," slowed Brian, wiping his upper lip, noticing Gia had awoken. "Look who's returned from the dead."

Gia flicked Brian off, getting a belly-laugh from her uncle and a disapproving face from Dad.

"Come on Dad, I'm eighteen and it's only a finger," she spat, sitting up. "Shit, I feel like I got hit by a train. _Ouch_!"

"I'd consider the freak a train alright. He hit me _once_ and I went down, _hard_," started Brian. "Your dad here," continued Brian, punching him in the arm, "Said you got hit by him multiple times, and with a rifle stock, none the less!"

"Shotgun stock," she corrected.

"Whatever."

"It's my hard head," grunted Gia.

"You can say that again," fired Brian.

"It's my hard head."

Brian shushed her with a mighty paw and stuck his tongue out at her.

Gia wiped his spit off her orange mask and said, "Dad, I have a Dreamcatcher question for you."

Dad's face went from red and marbled with veins of laughter to immediate concern.

"What is it, baby?"

"When you dream, can… you _see_ what a person is doing from their point of view, like in real-time?" she asked rubbing her right foot.

"Yes, we can do that."

"I think I just did that."

"Really?"

"I think. I'm not sure, but it was weird and more of a nightmare than anything else. Man, my face feels like it was ripped right off."

Dad scrambled to his feet and stared into Gia's hugely expressive eyes and found a molten amalgam of triumph and fear, creating an alloy of unbreakable determination of the likes that he had never seen in his daughter or in an eighteen year old line cook. She had grown up.

"Who did you see?"

"I… _lived _through Walter Spinnaker—the freak, the Spider, or whatever we are calling him nowadays."

Dad closed his eyes and put both hands on top of his head, thinking through panic. His knuckles were skinned, skin around his eye black, his actual eye a wet red, shattered blood vessels pooling in the whites of his eye.

"Okay, Gia," he grabbed her hands gently and rubbed them—kissed them, "This is good. This is a breakthrough. Now Gia, honey, I want you to think hard. _Really_ hard; can you do that for me?"

Gia nodded, "Yeah, sure. Anything."

"Was it clear to you? The dream, I mean. What details can you remember? Sights, smells, emotions, music, or sounds, anything that we can use as leverage against him."

"Well, let me think."

Dad kissed her hands again and she stared into his dark-chocolate eyes. For the first time today, she saw hope and understood this really was a breakthrough and having an upper hand for the first time—an advantage over their seemingly invincible and dynamic adversary. This glimmer of hope in her father's eyes was the oxygen that blew over Gia's smoldering ember of spunk and rekindled it into a raging fire. Gia exhaled and closed her eyes, gripping Dad's hand with excited ferocity. She stopped stooping and breathed quickly. The angle of her left shoulder whispered cognitive and cytoplasmic memories into her ear.

Gia slowly opened her eyes and knew what to say, one of the only important things worth recalling.

"He… well, how do I state this? Walter slaughtered his family out of desperation and confusion, Dad. He is becoming mentally unstable."

"You mean to tell us that he wasn't unstable before?" asked Mom, sarcastically laughing and peering around the humming cabin. "He is obviously crazy—insane and out of control!"

"I wholeheartedly agree," said Brian, raising his hand. "After what he did to… _to_ Pira, the man is wild." Brian's eyes slimmed into reptilian cracks and mouth hardened—thin and white. "He's like a dog that has lost its mind, has rabies. He needs to be put down with a bullet or my bare hands. He's crazy."

"Not this guy, Nash," whispered Toby. "He was in control and completely sane. This is big news. Did you see anything else that happened, Gia?"

Brian crossed both arms in protest and glared at the floor.

Without taking her eyes off Uncle Brian, Gia said, "He talked to someone over the omni-tool network." Gia clenched her hands and hissed, poking her exposed gums with her bloated and shredded tongue. "Hang on, I almost got it. I would say it's on the tip of my tongue, but I think I bit that off when Walter hit me."

"Take all the time in the world."

From behind Dad, Brian said, "We don't have all the time in the world."

Mom rolled her silver eyes, but knew her big friend was right. They were constrained by time and it was tightening like a noose made of razor wire.

"Who was the Spider talking to?" persisted Dad.

"A woman."

"Who?"

"Strong. _That's it_!" she shouted, pointing at Dad. "A woman named Strong, last name. Not married. Went by 'Miss'."

"My god you are beautiful," mumbled Dad in a deeply satisfying gravelly voice, grabbing Gia's head and kissing her right on the faceplate. Gia shut an eye and smiled, tracing a finger over his lip.

"The first person who came up on my list is Andrea B. Strong," said Mom with her omni-tool already open.

From over Dad's shoulder, Gia watched Brian's face become splashed with white paint.

"Who is she?" asked Gia. "I want to see the face of the person controlling Walter."

Gia leaned into Mom's lap and pushed her orange face into the onmi-tool's screen. What stared back was death itself, embodied by human flesh and camouflaged by makeup.

She had black hair like viscous oil creeping down her ivory skin, ending at her shoulders. Blue eyes, like Walter's, stared back and she smiled red daggers at the camera.

"Gia, did you say she was controlling him?" asked Mom.

"Yeah… I—I guess I did," she stuttered.

"How do you know?" asked Dad.

"I mean, it was the way she talked to him. She bossed him around and was ornery. He was trying to… well, _impress_ her."

"Andrea Strong is the president of the Human Xenorelations for the Alliance. Why would she be dealing with the Spider? How would she even know they exist if they are more secretive than a Spectre's debriefing files?" asked Mom, puzzled.

"I don't know. More importantly, in the dream, or, _ermm_… memory, there was another woman; I think it was Walter's wife. He blew her head off," said Gia slowly. "Shit, I can feel parts of her skull pecking my skin…"

"The most intimate details can transfer through the dreams, Gia. It comes with the job," said Dad softly.

"Well I never asked for this fucking job, now did I?" she shouted, pushing Dad's hands back into his chest.

"Gia, I don't kn—"

She regretted that outburst. It was immature.

"No, that was my fault. I'm sorry," gasped Gia, sucking back tears in a wet sniffle. "Come on, let's get back to this."

"About this other woman…" whispered Dad.

"Her name was Melissa."

Brian snapped and pointed at Mom.

"There are a couple that came up." said Mom who was chewing on her tongue.

"She's a blond. Younger and quite good looking," said Gia, closing her eyes and reeling in the ever so clear memories.

"Got it!"

"Read off what you see about her," said Dad.

"Well, she's a bio-engineer and her profile is wrapped in red tape."

"Is she married to a man named Jack?" asked Gia.

"Yes, but didn't you say Melissa was Walter's wife?" asked Mom, cocking her head to the left.

"Yeah, but it doesn't really matter. Can you pull up a picture of Jack?"

"Sure thing, I just need to… _Keelah_," gasped Mom.

"What is it?" asked both Brian and Dad simultaneously.

Speechless, Mom turned her wrist so everyone could see the face staring back at them.

Gia knew why they were all horror struck and damn well did not understand what in the goddamn hell was going on. Jack bore a striking resemblance to Walter. They were two different people, but looked similar. Was Jack Walter's brother?

Who knew.

"Before we throw around theories about Jack, I have to tell you all one more thing," announced Gia, standing. "_Ouch_! My freakin' knees are killing me," she hissed.

"Take it easy, darling," said Dad, eager to help her stand.

"I got it, Dad. Anyways, Walter—the freak—called me a goddess. He called me Aurora and in the dream, he called me that to himself."

Gia sighed, still clueless to what all of this meant. The ship they were on was called the _SSV Aurora_, so does that mean this psychopathic child killing zealot knew they were coming in this very ship? When Walter went to sleep with his obliterated family, did he penetrate her dreams and implant this artificial memory of him breaking down into her head as a tool of deception? Is he planting themes and ideas into her own head to fuck with them to make it easier to kill them?

Goddamn it, she cannot do this.

Gia could be leading her loved ones into a well orchestrated trap that gets all of them caught in Walter's crossfire.

Or, what if this entire dream was true? What if Walter is mentally disintegrating?

"Shit, I don't know what to think," admitted Gia. "Dad, can you please take the reins on this? I am not a leader. I cannot do this anymore. I cannot take this responsibly."

Dad walked over and put two hands on Gia's shoulders.

"Look at me, darling."

These nicknames he labeled her by were the same ones he tagged to her when she was a kid—innocent and fearless. She was supposed to hate him after what he did.

Gia gave him a bear hug and pushed through the agonizing pain and replaced it with the love she had blocked out with her wall of anger.

Her heart leapt, both from pain and endearing affection. No longer did she feel her guileless heart was steered by the Devil perched on her right shoulder. The angel on her left pushed him over the edge.

"_Take that_," she breathed.

"I have your back. All of us have your back and we will get through this," said Dad.

"Can you and Mom try to get along if we make it out of this?" asked Gia into Dad's collar bone. She stared at the bullet hole that Skave left ten years ago. It was the jacket Brian had kept and had worn. It was the jacket Dad wore when Mom was in love with him and they beat the unbeatable.

"That's asking a lot," said Mom. "No promises there, little miss."

"Understandable," said Gia pulling away from Dad, winding up a hand, and slapping him in the face. "Keelah that felt _good_!"

Brian erupted into laughter and Dad gasped in shock.

"I deserved that," he said.

"Four years and I figured it was time I did that," breathed Gia wildly. "Since we are all about to either die or win."

Gia collapsed back into Dad's chest and apologized.

"This is too much," she admitted.

"You're doing very well," reassured Dad.

"He killed his two daughters. Keelah," spit Gia, "I can feel their rib cages breaking against mine. The dream was so realistic. I don't know who is who or what is what anymore."

"Gia Toshiko," said an old voice filled with a lifetime of cigarettes, light beer, and high-octane fueled adrenaline, "I never thought that little person inside the suit had it in 'em," finished Mr. Burns who leaned against the pilot's cabin exterior bulkhead.

Gia turned to Dad and hugged him once more and whispered, "I love yea', Dad," in his ear.

"What's going on up here?" asked Mom walking towards the cabin.

"Gia, I know you wanted to see the Citadel again, right?" asked Mr. Burns. "That's what you always talk about in class."

"You know it, Mr. Burns."

"Come on, we're about to come into view."

Gia had very little recallable or detailed memories about the forty-seven kilometer long suspended city and she desired to lay eyes on it once more from a distance. Gia plopped her ass into the co-pilot seat and wrestled the armrests anxiously. The _SSV Aurora_ plowed through the blue and purple gaseous shawls and Gia could see deep oranges and scintillating blues fighting through the pillows of nebulous gas and dust to reach the eagerly awaiting quarian's eyes. The ship rocked slightly and the dashboard binged at Mr. Burns. He cursed under that crematorium gray mustache of his and flicked a switch.

"Alliance Control, this is the_ SSV Aurora_ asking permission to dock," recited Mr. Burns. Brian leaned heavily on the back of Gia's chair and mouth breathed right next to her face. Normally, she would have a smart-ass response to his intrusion, but when the Citadel sliced into sight, Gia was blindsided by its beauty, but something was off. In all the pictures and vids she has seen, it appeared smaller than she would have thought. Not only did she notice the difference in its appearance, but so did the rest. Gia was used to seeing it blossomed, the five petals like those of rocket fins trailing an explosive warhead. Instead, its great arms were closing and it was transforming into a torpedo coddled in the lackadaisical Widow Nebula.

"Alliance Control to _SSV Aurora_, to what business are you attending to at the Citadel?" asked the robotic sounding control officer.

Mr. Burns muted the microphone he had strapped around his head and mouthed _what should I say?_

"Un-mute it, Mr. Burns," said Gia to her surprise.

Her teacher did so.

"Oh, hello Mister Control Officer!" shouted Gia in her best flirtatious and obnoxious voice she could muster. "If you cannot tell by my voice, I am a quarian. How're you doing?"

"State your business, ma'am," said the officer, this time with less authority in mind.

"Oh, well sure. My lovely uncle here is taking us—that being my mother and father—to see Blue Lights here on the Citadel. We heard they are doing a free concert on the tip of the Zakera Ward in the park and, well, I have never been. I feel I am obligated to see them since the lead singer is a quarian like myself. Oh gosh, I love her voice so much!" said Gia waving at Mr. Burns' microphone.

"Did you not hear we are under lock down, ma'am?"

"Why's that, officer?"

"We have had a terrorist threat here on the Citadel and are closing the arms. Code Orange."

Gia went hot and her vision saturated with negative lightning bugs.

_Why are they doing this? Is this the work of Andrea Strong?_

"We must get in!" shouted Gia. "Is the concert still on for later?" she asked.

"Yes it is, even if we advise against it."

"I want to see them!" she pouted, stomping her foot. Luckily for her, she was surrounded by mindless bosh'tets like this at school. She had been living in a ripe environment with little monsters like this. She was recreating her schoolmate's personalities.

"Okay, just calm down. Your family can enter. The Citadel will be fully locked down in the next ten minutes, Citadel time. You guys should get through in time and dock. Good luck and enjoy the show, ma'am."

"Thank you!" she shouted. When the control officer hung up, Gia sighed and talked in her normal, deeper and rougher voice. "It's a good thing Norry was obsessed with Blue Lights and wouldn't shut up about them at school," she said rolling her pinball-like eyes.

She was still full of hate knowing that Walter killed her friend.

Mr. Burns, hair wild like tangled steel wool, stared at Gia with glazed over eyes and gaping mouth.

"Damn, you're good, Gia."

"I don't take pride in it. I have been lying for far too long," she admitted. "More importantly, what's this about a terrorist threat?" she asked, looking up into Dad's sinewy neck.

"It must deal with what the Spider is doing—what Walter has planned." He soberly glanced at everyone on board. "We have to be careful. Gia, do you remember anything in the dream about Walter's thoughts on us—on you?"

All Gia remembered was an intense throbbing admiration and how Walter kept referring to her as "his little Goddess Aurora." There was a phone call, but only names stuck.

Gia did not remember much from history classes since it was not her favorite subject, but there was something about the Roman gods and titans that interested her. Six years ago, when she was learning about them, her teacher made the class do a stand up presentation over a god, goddess, or titan of their choice.

For some reason, Gia was magnetically drawn to the Roman goddess Aurora.

Maybe it was because every single artist's rendition of her was of a beautiful woman dressed in orange garb, much like herself.

That is how a twelve-year-old's brain functions, she guessed.

Her father stared endearingly into his daughter's faceplate waiting for an answer, but a thought was on the tip of her brain, and she wanted to explore it.

She held a finger up to Dad's lips and said, "_Shhhhh_."

Aurora was the Roman goddess that would soar across the sky and meet the rising sun. Her two siblings were Sol—Earth's star—and Luna—Earth's moon. There were some other details about her intense sexuality and something about Troy, but that did not matter.

Or did it?

Keelah, she did not know anymore. The metaphors and allegorical importance passed through her like cytoplasmic webs. She felt them, knew they were there, but could not grasp them.

Either way, Walter knew they were on the ship called Aurora and knew they were gunning for him. Again, he had the upper ground and could not be surprised.

He was always ahead of the game no matter what.

Walter was superior.

The man was also crumbling, but that does not mean they should ease up. He is an animal and no matter how tamed, domesticated, and well mannered an animal can be, they still have primal instincts and will bite.

He was wounded emotionally and physically. They had put a dent into his gleaming armored shell and he was confused beyond belief. He has his enemy bearing down on him and he knows it.

He was cornered with teeth gleaming.

"You guys," she said. "He is a cornered animal and more dangerous than before. That's all I know. The Walter we knew before is not the same. He's ascended to something… _else_. Dad, what is our plan?"

"Well…"

"You do have a plan, don't you?" she asked, pushing her face closer to Dad's. "We need equipment and a plan. You must have something up your sleeve."

"We have the equipment under control," said Brian, cracking his scabbed knuckles. "We scavenged materials from the police vehicle I rammed Toby's house with. We have weapons and gear. Now a plan, Dad has that under control, little Gia."

"He does, in fact, have a plan, Gia," said Mom. "We are meeting up with someone incredibly important. Someone who ten years ago saved us. Without this man, we would be dead."

Brian's thick face revealed that Mom was telling the truth and it had to have been a personal friend of all three.

Gia's skin prickled, not with anxiety, but with aches. She was getting sicker with every passing moment and had put her life at risk by not mentioning the illness that will overwhelm her. She knew her suit well and had quarantined the virus that was savaging her blood and legions of white blood cells through sweeping victories. Her teeth were missing, both lips torn wide open—bloated and throbbing, each pounding pulse thundering pain. Gia knew, in her current state, she would not last long. Her effectiveness was an hour at the most, then she would be dragging.

She must never tell her parents that she consumed raw, unfiltered air. Without telling them, she was putting her life at risk, but if she did tell them, she would put all their lives at risk.

She could not longer harm anyone else. For far too long, she had been hurting those around her, both with mental barbed wire and physical battery. She had butchered her own life and knew it. Her future was dim and there was no light at the end of the tunnel. She was smart enough to acknowledge such a fate.

Gia laughed and stared out the window, wincing. Several of her ribs were broken, her knees and shins were at any moment going to fracture, her lips needed stitches and were gashed wide open, she could feel fragments of teeth grating under her chin, and now she had deadly bacteria festering into a virus pulsing through her body. Her hood was peppered with bird-shot, wrists swelled and cutting off circulation to her hands, and was one of the most wanted people outside of the Terminus system. A professional killer was waiting for Gia on the forty-seven kilometer long space station and they were about to attempt the impossible: robbing the most secure and locked-down banks in the Citadel. News stations as well as armed men and women of C-Sec were stationed around their objective of attack.

Some of Dad's old friends were probably held up in King's Bank and would more than likely love to kill a fugitive cop killer from ten years ago.

Not fifty kilometers away was the Citadel which Gia held in reverence. The entirety of that station and her thirteen and a half million inhabitants shook Gia. It was her responsibility to get inside of King's Bank and solve the rest of the puzzle. They were revealing all of their cards, throwing all their chips onto the table based solely off images that shimmered deep in REM sleep.

In other words, Gia could only accurately describe their actions as bat-shit crazy.

"How could one person hold the fate of the galaxy?" asked Gia, her throat hurting.

Her virus was spreading.

Potentially trillions of lives were weighted on her thin shoulders.

The Citadel was closing and warships were gathering outside of their fortress that was sprawling with culture, beautiful people and ideology. Why would someone want to destroy all of this? Why would anyone want to warrant a war? For what reason were they motivated to do such a thing?

Andrea Strong, whoever she was, had a finger hovering over the red button and when she pushed it, whatever is in that bank, would unleash only the unbearable.

As they were flagged as friendly, the _SSV Aurora _passed through the blockade and Gia was able to devour the outside of the Citadel for the last time before passing into a veil of orange city lights.

She admired its enormous chrome clad swooping sides and pointed mouth.

It reminded her of a missile.

Gia closed her eyes and accepted that this city, which heralds such spectacular life, was the place that she was going to have hers taken.

**Zakera Ward, Section Two, Primary Control: Humans**

The Citadel had fully closed and was on lock down.

No one was getting in.

No one was getting out.

Gia and her family were locked in here with Walter and none were leaving until one or all lay dead.

Gia Heiko, an eighteen year old quarian line cook, her crippled family, and a most definitely broken psyche stared up at the city overhead as her trio of allies briskly made their way towards an objective that would let them accomplish what they had originally set out to do.

Gia limped and fell behind Mom's rather aggressive pace. Dad and Brian were behind Gia, melting into the crowd of human faces and on the lookout for assailants.

Mr. Burns had docked his ship and was on standby, awaiting any orders they had.

Her teacher was with them all the way.

Gia could feel the end closing in on them—two walls hurdling towards her at blistering paces which would either collide together, destroying everything in its path, or stop just short of ultimate destruction.

The four of them had taken a taxi where they received yet more information about what was happening. The Citadel was locked down due to a Code Orange terrorist threat. That meant there was a high possibility something would happen. There was elevated military and law enforcement security, and all public events should be heeded with caution. Based on what Gia was seeing on the street, no one really cared about what the media and the law enforcement was saying. Dad was telling Gia that this was where Brian and him would like to eat on duty back in the days of C-Sec law enforcement. When they were accepted into Citadel Security Special Response, they never could eat down here as often.

The Citadel was like the majority of cities.

Well, not in the technical sense. Anything above seven meters lacked atmosphere and the city had arms instead of districts and was built by the protheans, an ancient alien race fifty-thousand years ago.

Other than that, there were the super rich, a small middle class, and quite a lot of poverty. The class system was displayed to Gia as a sick metaphor: the lower class always inhabited the lower levels and the streets while the rich controlled the sky, looking down on the writhing masses beneath their boots of power.

Gia, however, liked the city streets the best. They were in the Oriental human section of the Zakera ward, the same arm that cradled King's Bank. The city streets were unlike the ones in Milgrom back on Bekenstein, but were stained with personality, character, growth, and maturity. Milgrom was sterile, a steam cleaned city—a thug dressed in scintillating business suits of steel and gleaming glass. It appeared only alluring, but was clotted with arrogance. All of that potential character had gushed into the veins of this city. Even though she felt like death and could not think as well as she once could, there was no mistake that the Citadel had a beating heart somewhere deeply hidden and Gia could feel it. Everything and everyone was thriving here, not in a financial sense but psychologically. On the streets, no one batted an eye at the two quarians walking around. They were well cultured and their city—their mother and home, had taught them to be accepting.

To Gia's right, through the shanty alleyways and coagulated back streets polluted with trash bins, she spotted an open market.

She would kill to wander around that square and admire the foods that Bekenstein lacked.

Gia coughed and cursed to herself—promised she would not show any sign of weakness, especially in front of her Mom or Dad.

"Gia, are you doin' okay?" asked Brian through her headpiece.

From the police cruiser, they were able to scrounge some materials and several headsets were amongst the useful items obtained.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Eying the market?" asked Mom.

"You bet. We only have grocery stores back home that specialize in the frozen and generic items."

"You know, Gia, your Daddy was writing a book about the one-thousand best places to eat on the Citadel before what happened ten years ago," said Mom, huffing and puffing, trying to keep the pace brisk.

"Is that true, Dad?"

"Yup," he whispered. "I want to go to that market as well. Once this is all over, we will hit it up, I promise, Gia."

Gia bared a toothless smile knowing full well that Dad's promise will be broken. Nonetheless, it helped her walk faster.

"There's that spring in your step I noticed was missing," said Dad kindly. "You mom has reclaimed that bounce she was missing as well."

"I hope you are keeping up," spouted Mom, squealing as she almost plowed over a volus merchant.

"Brian," started Gia, "before you flew your car right through the wall, Walter had hit me with the stock of the shotgun Dad has in his bag. Before that, I had my old spunk. It'll come back, I am still trying to wake up."

Gia was honest about that. She was tired of living out this nightmare.

"Where'd he hit you, if you don't mind me asking?" Brian asked from what Gia interpreted as a smirk.

He never had kids, but he damn well knew how to treat Gia, even if it was geared towards a darker, more mature humor. The joking around lightened the melodramatic mood.

_Try to be yourself, Gia, you pathetic bitch. _

"In the face, back of the knees, and _oh_, he shot me once," said Gia, trying her best to still be her usual cocky self.

"He rifle butted you in the head?" he asked, astonished.

"Three or four times. You can't remember much when you have a Spectre hunter screaming that he is going to blow you in half after he tries crushing your skull."

"Toby, is she telling the truth?" asked Brian.

"After he was done pummeling her, she asked, 'Is that all you got'?"

"No," said Brian, unable to believe what Dad said.

"I shit you not, Brian," said Dad.

"You're lucky you have that hard head. Back on the _Aurora_, I saw holes in your hood."

"Like I said, he shot me."

"Goddamn."

"Sorry about that, hitting you in the face and all," said Gia, poking her forehead, knowing he was watching her from the crowd. He birthed two great goose eggs on his forehead that resembled ingrown horns with the tip of Detective Landford's pistol. She felt it fit him.

"If it weren't for you knocking me on my ass, we'd all be done. You were right about getting your parents."

"I know I am right." She paused and reflected for a moment. "When am I not right?"

"I swear, is your mom this arrogant? I don't remember her being like this ever."

"Secretly, she is," said Gia gleefully, "Or maybe you're too dumb to see it."

"Watch it there, little girl," he said through a chuckle.

Gia was able to crack a pathetic laugh.

Gia gorged on her surroundings. Old men played card games in patriarchal teahouses, the floral wallpaper yellowing and peeling from cigarette smoke and steam from tea. Their sunken old faces, emotionless, stared out of the open doors at Gia and they smiled. From her hip, Gia waved back at them. The buildings down on the lower levels were old, built by the asari many hundreds of years ago and left to the human refugees to do with their own free will. The city was growing off the decay of centuries past. To Gia's right was a video store selling pirated, illegally obtained copies of movies, vids, video games, and outdated, second hand electronics. Neon lights flashed in Mandarin, Korean, Japanese, Thai, and Vietnamese, all ancient human hieroglyphics to Gia of which she found enthralling and awe inspiring. There were so many human languages within the species. It was astonishing that they carried a lot of it through many light years and embedded it into the culture of the Citadel.

Above, the orange city lights blared down upon the flotillas of people. Blue, red, purple, yellow, and green neon lights hung crooked over grime covered glass advertising goods. Gia subconsciously walked towards a glass window and had to stare at the Chinese BBQ hanging in the window. Only over the extranet has she seen such a delicacy. Whole glistening red ducks hung from hooks stabbed under their beaks, their feet dripping with juice under the wired thermal lights. Sides of roast pork were suspended on two hooks, the skin pollen yellow, crackling and bubbling from the oven. Whole pig heads stared back at her through the greasy finger stained paned windows. A butcher, bent over with scoliosis, fingers missing, hair short and oily, chopped at a side of dark pink pork with an almost psychotic attention to detail and precision only an aerospace engineer could achieve, but with a cleaver on a concave wooden cutting board, bowed inward by decades of usage. His cleaver was old and heavy—well balance, the weight comforting. It hacked through grease bleeding meat, cleaving through bone and tissue without remorse.

This was what Gia wanted to do with her life. It was some sort of perverted joke her mind was playing with its owner, leading her into one of the few professional fields that can enjoy their hard work by means of sinful consumption. Gia, however, could never ever do such a thing.

After drooling over the human cuisine, she slurped blood and spit, and decided that all life thrown at her was with cruel intention. She tore herself away from the butcher, but again was tantalized by more guilty sights and smells.

There were Vietnamese noodle soup stands, boasting a movable cart, a ninety-year-old grandma handing out steaming bowls of phở to her customers sitting on plastic seats that excited Gia in a way she had not felt in four years. A woman was making hand pulled noodles for Malaysian soup, a congee monger served his rice porridge with black, volcanic cured duck eggs. A couple barbecued skewered meats and handed them out to hungry customers with lemon grass and fish sauce dip. The majority of people were human, but veracious krogan lumbered about, asari ran in schools, and a couple of salarians were even seen enjoying the cusine. Gia had not seen so many non-humans in ten years.

It physically ached to see people enjoying their lives through food without a worry in their day, save for paying off their credit chits and getting their kids dressed and ready for school.

All of these people, every single one of them innocent, were unknowingly under the control and wrath of two people, both monsters in the purest, most refined form. All of these people were going to be dead in less than two hours if they could not pull off the impossible with the only chance they had.

Gia wanted to see them all live.

She better damn well be able to keep them safe.

Every single last one of them.

Under the mask, she fumed, her stomach grumbling, having only consumed water and blood in the past day and teased by toxic food surrounding her. She felt as if the entire Milky Way was pitched against her survival. It only spun and churned to kill a quarian that up to two days ago, was just one more beating heart amongst trillions.

Gia thought that if everyone, enemy and ally alike, could sit down and have an honest home cooked meal, there would be no turmoil in the ranks of organics. Good company, solid food, and a gleeful atmosphere could make a galactic impact. Instead, it was the rotten few that live within the peaceful majority that have to fuck everything up.

Gia gripped the nylon strap over her right shoulder that contained a police issued assault rifle from the cruiser they stripped back on Bekenstein.

She was the one to weed out the rotten seeds before they spread and festered into a systemic disease that kills the host. She was ready to do just that to save the hundreds of people living, eating, and conversing in this backstreet on the Citadel. Gia peered around and saw nothing evil. Everyone smiled even though the entire city was at Code Orange Terrorist Threat. They lived life as they saw fit—lived most of it with family and friends. Smiling faces flashed from billboards on the sides of buildings advertising fruit juice, animated figures chased each other on holographic screens, and vistas of mountains, oceans, and rain forests from outer planets awaited tourists. People hung their laundry on the webs of electrical wires crisscrossing the streets, almost making a thatched roof with the old wired technology that the city did not bother to update.

Gia decided that she must do anything to save this city, even give her life to save many.

"Gia, we're here," said Mom through her headset.

Her Mom's voice startled Gia and at that very moment, she wanted to say something to her mom who had done nothing but put her daughter's best interest ahead of hers.

"This is the place and no one followed us," said Dad emerging from a crowd of human school children wearing white pollutant masks.

Even Dad had showed his altruism towards Gia over the past years even though she hated him—gutted him with looks, words, and actions each time she saw him. All of those horrible, selfish actions had been to satisfy only herself.

Brian's paw gently pushed on Gia's back as he lifted blue tarps hanging over shattered doors for Mom and herself. His touch was tender, caring, and loving. He had their backs until the end. They slowly entered the broken mouth of a building, their apparent meeting place for an informant.

"Who are we meeting?" asked Gia, her eyes whizzing about the inside of what appeared to be an old hotel lobby. She scarfed her surroundings with the vehemence and intensity of the young and curious seven year old Gia. Glass cracked under her feet, the lights were out in the dilapidated lobby, but the orange from outside was more than enough to light the eerie cavernous space within. The plastic sheets dulled the city lights to an eerie azure gloom. Gia was dubious about the information broker Dad, Mom, and Uncle Brian relied on, but she trusted Dad's leadership and judgment. He would be the last one to lead them all into harm. Outside, the roar of music, loud voices, and electronic advertisement softened to a beautifully haunting echo that hummed through the empty building.

Dad whispered, "Guns out and hot. I don't want Walter popping out from behind a corner and wasting us."

Gia took a painful knee and unzipped her bag, as did the rest of the group. Zippers hissed and ceramic weapons clicked. Dad and Brian's heavy breaths glowed orange, the inside of the building chilled, walls spray painted in all kinds of languages, water tap dancing somewhere deep inside the building.

Gia found herself yet again in the company of a Vindicator assault rifle, the weight and grip washing in a tide of good and bad memories. This gun had killed.

She had killed in the name of survival.

Norry and Mango's faces flashed in her mind's eye.

She gasped.

"Gia, are you okay?" asked Mom.

"Yeah, A-okay. Come on, I'm curious to see who we are meeting." The darkness of the lobby consumed the four of them. Dad and Brian used flashlights, while Mom and Gia used their helmet's night-vision capabilities to see in the dark.

Mattresses leaned against the walls, bed sheets infested with mold clotted the floor, toys scattered the floor, spray paint cans rusted in the corners, and the white tile of the floor was gray with filth and years of abandonment.

Gia followed Dad, Brian followed Gia, and Mom took up the rear, swinging the barrel of her shotgun from hip level, ready to waste anyone wearing a pink tie and a sinister smile.

"Hello?" said a voice from behind two swinging doors.

The sound of water came to an abrupt halt when Dad held up a closed fist. All of them pressed themselves against the wall, their weapons trained on the double doors. Dad had an assault rifle the same as Gia's, while Brian clamped a compact sub-machine gun in his thick fists and Mom clasped the shotgun that failed to dispatch Walter back home.

Gia could hear footsteps.

They waddled.

Were light.

Harmless.

Both hands tightened on the rifle, vision sharpened, and breaths grew shorter.

The swinging doors opened outward and Gia had to drop her holographic sight at least two feet at a small, rotund target.

"_Gah_, why must you shine those torches right into my eyes? Us volus are feeble creatures."

Dad lowered his weapon and said, "Stitch, I'm goddamned happy to see you, old friend."

"If it isn't Toby Heiko," said the volus disappearing behind the doors. "Come, I have a pot of coffee running in the back," he said, disappearing behind the swinging doors.

The name Stitch rang a bell with Gia.

_Oh yeah!_

"You're the one in Dad's story," said Gia, pushing past the doors into a rundown kitchen that was once the beating heart of the hotel feeding hungry travelers with intergalactic cuisine. A lamp was on in the corner near a gas stove that breathed blue flames.

"Which story is that?" asked Stitch, climbing onto a step stool towards the stove to finish the coffee. "I am sure Toby has loads of stories with me as the hero or tough guy in them."

"You are the one that told my dad who Skave was, what his intentions were and that he was a Spectre. You are the bartender at the Interstellar Shot Glass!"

Gia saw Brian smile through the dim light, eyes sparkling.

"_Dad_," muttered Stitch, more to himself that to anyone in the room.

"You are the bartender that takes care of the C-Sec agents! You saved my Dad's life ten years ago," reasserted Gia.

Gia found herself doing something that her normal self would never do. She slammed her chest into Stitch and gave him a mighty hug even though her ribs protested in pain.

"_Woah_, you almost knocked me over. Toby, Earth clan, please," he gasped, "do tell me this is Gia, your daughter."

"It's her alright," he said, not setting his rifle down, but helping with the coffee.

"Let me see you," said Stitch, pulling Gia back to analyze her face. "By the gods, it is you," he breathed like a helium tank hissing closed. "I remember your dad taking you to the bar on occasion to show you off to all of us. You would dance on top of the bar and I would have to clean up after the mess you made. Messy little quarian you were."

Gia released a stressed laugh and let go of Stitch. She remembered dancing on the bar, but had very faint memories about Stitch himself.

"Brian Hilliard," said Stitch, extending a hand to Gia's uncle.

"Goddamn, it's good to see you," he said, his voice detonating in the deep, blasting the quiet like dynamite destroying billion year old rock.

"I miss your rants and martinis. Those were the good old times, right buddy?" said Gia's uncle with a wide smile.

"You were the most entertaining Earth clan of them all. No one has ever come close to making me laugh as hard as you have."

Stitch poured Brian and Dad coffee, then apologized to Gia and mom.

"This blasted old kitchen is poorly equipped. I would make you two the best drinks you have ever had," said Stitch. "Is she old enough to drink?" asked Stitch, pointing at Gia.

"Yes, but I quit."

"_Bah_, if you change your mind, come by my place when you get all your problems straightened out. On the house." Stitch pointed at Toby. "I meant to tell you that I found traces of hallucinogenic drugs in your mug of water ten years ago when I heard you were busted. Your asari friend poisoned you. I tried to reach out to the police and media, but got threats that they would close my bar, burn it down. I couldn't let that happen. Apologies, Earth clan."

Gia remembered Dad telling her how an asari CSSR operator spiked Dad's drink with hallucinogenic drugs that made him see things ten years ago, brought him to the brink.

Stitch's heavy finger laid on Mom.

"That was you at the bar, ten years ago that spilled the drink on me, yes?"

"It was," she gloated.

"Good play."

"Thanks."

"Not a talkative one your wife, Mr. Heiko?" asked Stitch.

"She is, but not now. Not in four years."

Mom glared at Dad.

There was an awkward silence for a moment or two when Stitch asked, "Now, Mr. Heiko, my favorite member of the Earth clan, how can I help you?"

"If I remember correctly, you said you once worked at a bank."

"I have held many jobs, a bank teller one of them."

"Stitch?" asked Dad, sincerity swelling in his eyes. "Do you trust me? Do you believe me?"

"It has been many years. I am getting older now, but I am wiser. I have followed every bit of news surrounding Mr. Hilliard and yourself. I fought against the police and their interrogations ten years ago. I fought for you, my tall friend."

"Do you believe me that all this stuff that has been happening on the news surrounds us?" he asked, kneeling to Stitch's level.

"Ey, I do, Earth clan."

"Do you believe that most everything on the news are lies against us?"

"Yes, Mr. Heiko," said Stitch, resting a three fingered hand on Dad's shoulder, his mouth piece flickering to life every time he mouth breathed.

Dad set his coffee down and stared into the Volus' two portholes that acted as eyes.

"I need to safely get into the King's Bank vault without being seen."

Stitch took a step backwards, flabbergasted and confused.

"That's… _impossible_," he breathed. "Why do you need to get in there?"

"All of this," spouted Gia before she realized she was talking, "The whole Citadel closing because of a terrorist threat is the reason we are here. Whatever is in that bank vault is the hidden truth behind what may happen in about one hour."

Gia checked her handmade watch and was startled at how fast time was sling-shotting away. She was terrified of the unknown and blindly jumping into a bank that was "impossible" to get into unseen. This could only end poorly.

"There must be a way," said Mom.

"Us volus are known as the best bankers and merchants in the galaxy, so much that the asari hire us in their bank. I worked there for five years and know the majority about it. There are armed guards at post at all times, armed asari that walk around and act like customers but are watching everything. There are full body scanners, x-ray detectors, cameras, silent alarms, and the media swarming that place. You will not get close. Nashira, your are the only person here that does not have their face plastered over the blasted news. You might be able to get in unarmed. As for the rest of you, there is no way to get… _in_."

"You have an idea, don't you?" asked Gia.

"_Gah_, there might… _no_. I don't want to get you all killed. I cannot hold that kind of responsibility."

Gia was ready to scream at him.

"What is it, Mr. Stitch," asked Gia, fighting off the sickness that was devouring her alive. Her patience was being tested.

"Trucks," he said.

"What?" fired back all four of them.

"They move valuables by truck into the bank from the back."

"Isn't all money digital?" asked Mom, leaning against the counter.

"Yes, but we… _they _hold art in the vault, bank notes, museum pieces, and other artifacts. These are hectic times, my friends, and chaos spreads like an airborne virus. Once one person catches it, the surrounding people are prone to snatch it up. King's Bank was the center for a terrorist attack not two days ago. Mr. Hilliard knows what I am talking about."

Brian nodded, the sparkle in his eyes blown out.

"People will be putting their safeguard items in and out of the multiple vaults. If you can… oh, why am I saying this?"

"Tell us," asserted Dad, still on his knees.

"You can hijack a truck and get in through the back. There will still be security and you will be caught, but you will at least be able to get in."

"It sounds crazy," said Brian.

"It sounds perfect," responded Mom.

"Nash, it's an insane idea," said Dad, standing and putting a hand on her thin shoulders.

"Do you have a better idea?" asked Gia.

"Well, no."

"We have to do it," said Gia.

"Stitch?" asked Dad, hoping to hear a better plan.

"It's the only way, Mr. Heiko."

Dad shook his head.

Gia coughed blood and said, "Let's go get our truck."

**Zakera Ward, One kilometer away from King's Bank**

"This damn traffic is killing me," said Tavro, turning the radio up.

Ak'aro turned to his whiny turian passenger and said, "You just woke me from a nap. Never wake a krogan from a nap."

Ak'aro scratched a scale that was irritated from the sidearm strapped to his thigh and crossed his thick arms. King's Bank officials said to use the streets below because there was higher security on the ground and they would be safer if a terrorist attack was carried through.

Not like they needed any security.

They both had military training under their belts and a sidearm strapped to their hips. They did not need security, not to mention they were piloting an armored, four thousand kilogram vehicle with state of the art defense systems.

"Why don't you just lift off and fly over to the bank?" asked Ak'aro leaning his head against the bullet resistant glass.

"Do you want to get chewed out by the boss?" fired back his colleague. "Absolutely no air traffic. We don't know if there is going to be an EMP attack or what. We cannot risk falling out of the air like a paperweight if something happens. By the way, what's the rush?" asked the turian, staring at his krogan partner.

"I just hate traffic," grumbled Ak'aro. "Look at this mess. A freaking taxi crashed at the intersection and is holding us up. I hate bad drivers. Also, I don't think our special cargo should be kept in the back much longer."

Ahead, C-Sec was sectioning off the freight vehicles to drive around the crash. Most cargo vehicles used the only driving streets left on the Citadel to keep air traffic moving. Bigger and slower vehicles holding hazardous materials cannot risk flying inside a vehicle.

"There, ask that asari if we can use the access road to the right," said Ak'aro.

"That road is for police only," said Tavro, concerned about his job.

"Just ask."

The truck grunted and pulled close to a freight truck ahead as he rolled down the window.

"Officer, how're you doing?" asked Tavro, waving down at the officer dressed in her blues.

"Shitty. This whole day has been a mess. First the Blue Lights concert and now this whole terrorist thing," she shouted while waving her orange torches.

"We're from King's Bank," said Tavro. "We are on borrowed time and need to get to the bank."

The officer checked her omni-tool, tapped a couple buttons, and asked, "King's Bank is like, what, a kilometer from here?"

"Roger that."

"I'll give you access to the C-Sec road. Just drive through the red holographic banner up there. It will shut your vehicle off since it is not C-Sec, but don't worry, just restart it. I am deactivating the 'fry your car' code to the pulse. Just drive through."

The C-Sec officer waved, the orange closed city making her blue head fringe like melted wax. Tavro spun the wheel to his right and the vehicle groaned forward, hooking a right where the officer told him to.

"You see how far a little persuasion can go?" gloated Ak'aro in the side seat. Tavro grunted and passed the red line. All the warning lights blazed to life and the engine whined to a stop. The truck coasted to a halt one-hundred meters away.

"Now, just restart it," said the krogan, closing his eyes and leaning his colossal naturally armored head against the window. Tavro shook his head and hit the code to restart the truck when he felt a gush of air spill through his open window and the faint smell of a human waft through. Perplexed, he spun his head to see if his brain was playing tricks or if the phantom scent was just a sensual apparition.

A rifle stock sprung towards his face.

From behind a guard rail, Gia watched her dad yank a turian's limp body onto the street below the armored vehicle. It was a riveted metal plated box with several rectangular windows and circular ports on the doors where the armed guards inside could shoot out at any assailants. After working with C-Sec, Dad and Brian knew how the police operated and held valuable knowledge of their gear. Just like Dad said, once the truck passes through the red banner, it would shut the vehicle down and that was when they could launch. They had paid their taxi driver an absorbent amount of credits to crash his taxi into a designated spot that Stitch had pointed out on a map of where the trucks would be travelling. Sure enough, the little bastard was right on the mark.

Gia was startled when a gunshot thumped dully from inside the cabin. Behind the polarized windows, she saw a blue flash.

Gia raised her rifle, leapt over the guardrail and approached the vehicle, keeping tabs on the windshield. Mom stood in front of the mammoth plated beast, pointing her shotgun at the driver's windshield. Brian had torn open the passenger door and was screaming at someone inside the car.

Gia had been instructed to stay back and let the grownups take care of this.

She sniffled and muttered, "_Fuck that_."

She approached the vehicle, rifle perpendicular to her frame, finger on the trigger waiting for anything.

"Is Dad okay?" shouted Gia, peeking around the sight of her rifle and spitting out blood.

"He's fine, now get in here, Gia," shouted Brian, his face splattered with orange blood.

There must be a krogan in there.

Gia jumped on the step bolted to the frame of the vehicle, grabbed a bar under the side view mirror as Brian helped her into the truck, pushing on her bottom.

Shocked, Gia watched as a krogan dressed in black fatigues held his face, orange blood oozing from between his fingers. He said nothing and his kinetic barrier projector on his chest flickered and sparked.

"What the hell happened?" asked Gia.

"I shot him," said Dad, breathless, pulling the unconscious turian back into the cabin of the truck.

"In the face?" asked Gia, her voice deep.

"They can take it," said Mom, scooting over in the seat and jabbing her shotgun into the krogan's ribs. "Now just because you narrowly escaped death, don't think you can survive a modified shotgun at point blank range. At this angle, I can hit both of your hearts, stopping you dead in your tracks."

The krogan's eyes slimmed and he nodded.

"I'm glad we understand each other," she said, strapping her seatbelt on. "You're going to get us into King's Bank rear access, you understand me?" she pushed.

"Gia, I want you in the back," said Dad, throwing a thumb over his shoulder and starting the truck. It roared to life and idled, sputtering pollution and restrained torque.

Without question, Gia yanked open the slim door behind the driver seat and crawled through. Brian closed the door and red emergency lights flickered on from the ceiling.

Behind Gia, the door locked. It was startling and unnerving.

Why would they lock the door?

If they caught fire, they would want Gia alive in the armored hull.

She was sure it was to keep her safe from anything unexpected that might happen in the next five minutes. The truck lurched forward and Gia sat on the ground, grabbing a railing to keep herself from skidding across the floor of the vehicle. With the rifle in her lap and her wrists screaming at her, she closed her eyes for a split second, then opened back to survey her surroundings. The truck was packed with stapled plywood boxes and saran wrapped valuables. The entire right wall of the twenty-foot long trailer was security boxes, surely filled with jewels, diamonds, and family heirlooms. To her left, there was a crate and enough room to fit in between the bulkhead of the driver's cabin and the box. With her wrists killing her, she let go of the railing and jammed herself in between the box and wall.

She sighed and curled both knees up under her chin, resting her head for a moment.

How were they going to get in the bank like this? Sure it was the best idea, but what if the krogan does not give them the code to get access into the rear entrance? What if they are waiting for them?

Gia burped stomach acid and blood, which had been her diet for the past day. Her hands shook and her mind lacked a polished edge. This was where she is supposed to be at her best, yet it seems she was at her worst.

Gia went over the dream one more time.

The sunrise, the two yolks, the numbers, and the riddle. They figured out the part of the riddle with the assistance of Walter, but everything else was just decapitated speculation wandering aimlessly through her thoughts. They were winging it in a position where no one should. Trillions of lives were at stake. They could not fuck up here.

From the back of the cabin, Gia heard a noise.

Rustling.

She gasped and whispered, "_What is that_?"

Not wanting to move, she opened her mouth, eyes peeled wide open, and ears on full alert, she heard the noise again.

Footsteps.

They were inside the truck.

Gia was not alone in the dark.

She readied her rifle, but the corner she scooted in was too tight to brandish her weapon.

Footsteps.

_Clunk._

_Clank._

_Clunk._

_Clank._

Hard soled shoes.

The red emergency light went out.

Darkness consumed the cabin.

Nothing but black.

_Clunk._

_Clank._

_Skerp._

Stop.

Blood rushed her skull and swelled behind her eyes; her vision throbbed, pupils dilated in fear and even blacker waves lapped against the corners of her vision—phantom capes laced around the necks of her enemies ruffled then fell still, melting into the void of treacherous ebony. The chimera of Gia's fears stood still, no more than three feet away from Gia.

It was silent.

In fact, it did not know she was in the trailer.

The narcoleptic fear that once gripped Gia calcified and the angel on her left shoulder, her guide, was even frozen into a porcelain sculpture. She too was scared of the thing that lurked ahead.

Gia's sick body on the other hand, had a different idea.

Gia choked a cough, but failed to control the austere internal war waged deep in her lungs.

Her mouthpiece flashed and Gia saw him for a split second, pistol tucked against the iron bulkhead, ear pressed against metal in attempt to find the driver and shoot through the metal to stop the hijacked truck.

Before Gia, a spectral silhouette of a man in a black suit lurked in the darkness, but was now invisible in the pitch black cabin as her mouth piece dimmed.

She coughed again, her mouthpiece basked the man in pale light and she was staring down the rifled barrel of a sidearm instead of having it pointed at her parents and uncle through the bulkhead.

Gia screamed, not from fear, but from deep within.

Inside of the cabin was not Walter, but the other Spider that was hunting them.

The pistol boomed in the cabin, but Gia was able to hit his arm, lucky not to catch the bullet that had her name etched on it. It snapped past he left ear and fragmented in green sparks off the side of the truck. The man with the black tie and sunglasses did not appear afraid or shocked. His hardened face was stoic.

It was the second spider that Uncle Brian has spoken about.

Again, he was swallowed in black.

Gia shouted to light the interior of the cabin in pale light from her mouthpiece. There was absolutely no light in there and her helmet was unable to assist, so she screamed to light his face. Gia found herself pinned in the corner, one arm locked between her rib and the wall, the other gripping the man's neck, who grunted.

Her wrists gave out and Gia squealed as he toppled onto her, hands struggling to press his firearm against Gia's face to blow her ugly and battered skull into a hairy pulp.

Claustrophobia and the ability to not fight back set Gia into an animistic panic. She kneed him between the legs. Hard.

Nothing.

Not a goddamn thing but a grunt and a soft _thunk._

The pistol went off again and Gia's ears rang, hot air swelling into her mask. She spit out pieces of ceramic and knew this was the end.

Her mask was shattered but had deflected the bullet.

She could smell better than ever before, though the scent of sweat, acerbic saliva, wet adrenaline, and stale air was unwelcoming. The vehicle jerked to a stop and Gia felt his knee slip, losing his death grip on Gia's neck and his pistol. With her free arm, Gia grabbed his wrist and _slammed _it against the crate to her left.

To her surprise, it went off yet again, wood from the crate bursting like hornets from the nest as the bullet tore a gaping hole into the box. The shrapnel stuck his face and he winced, eyes filling with high velocity debris.

"Someone help me!" she shouted as the door from which she entered opened, light and air conditioned oxygen sloshing through the breach. Outside of the truck, staccato gunfire boomed and came to a halt.

"Gia!" shouted Mom, ending her sentence with the punctuation of a gunshot. Gia closed her eyes as red vapor washed her exposed face and the Spider landed on her like a dead weight.

He weighed a ton.

Gia reached an arm over the body, like a zombie rising from a mass grave. Yet again, she smiled in Death's face, then gave him the middle finger.

"_Yeah_, that's right!" she screamed, her voice but a whisper and kicked the suited, headless man. Gia exhaled and whirled into Mom's shoulder, wanting to spill torrents of tears, but could not find that sacred emotion within. Mom's smoking shotgun clattered to the floor and she grabbed her daughter's face.

Gia gazed into Mom's smoldering eyes filled with dire shock and horror.

"Your mask," she gasped. "Half of your mask is _gone_!"

Gia bent over to pick up her rifle and dragged herself through the back of the truck, unlocked the two metal doors manually, and kicked them open. Caustic light thrashed at her pooled pupils and she inhaled deeply, accepting her fate.

"They must know," whispered Gia. "They must know we are coming."

Nashira grabbed her daughter's empty hand and squeezed it like she was never going to see her daughter again.

Squeezed it like she was about to be ripped from her grip.

Her mask was shattered and Gia knew what the consequence of that was.

It had happened and there was nothing she could do about it except move on.

"That was a Spider," said Gia. "He was waiting for us. They must have planted a bunch in all the trucks. Walter must know we were going to use this way to enter King's Bank." Gia sighed and swirled to Mom. Gia's eyes were half shut, glistening aqueducts of tears flash flooded her face.

"This," whispered Gia waving at her own face, "This, changes nothing, Mom. We still have a job to complete."

Dad and Brian had wounded and disabled the security guards in the offloading zone. Three asari were bleeding from the mouth and face, smearing the white, polished cement floor of the small covered offloading zone with dark blood. There was enough room to unload one truck at a time.

It seemed the krogan spilled the secret to get inside.

Or was that just a ploy?

Gia did not know or care. She slowly sank down, dangled both skinny legs over the lips of the truck, and fell to the floor, landing on her hands and knees.

She did not want to face Dad, but she could not hide the truth.

"Dad, don't be mad," she said when she heard him scream and run to his daughter who was jeweled in blood and breathing toxic vapor—gas that would kill her.

She was a walking cadaver.

No one could do anything about it, but she was not ready to go down.

Not yet.

Gia was just starting the final leg of her journey.

She was ready and able to face her last challenge.

"Accept it," said Gia, getting to her feet, cradling her rifle with affection and care. "Accept it and move on."

Dad's tan face was smeared with sweat and mute dismay.

"I got shot in the face by a Spider. I am still alive," she grunted, brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin white razor. "I am not dead. This is a moment I am alive and willing to fight."

Gia spun on the ball of her heel and walked up a service ramp towards a hollow steel security door.

Stitch had showed them blueprints of the building and what to do when inside.

_Step one: enter through unloading bay._

_Step two: take out guards, all three of them._

_Step four: breach the door into the hallway._

The four of them stacked up on the door while Mom approached it with her shotgun. They all went through training in preparation for Skave and door breaching was covered in their classes. They were working as a militarized unit in a situation they had been planning for ten years.

The offloading deck was quiet, save the three asari struggling to get the zip-tie handcuffs off. It was painted a neutral gray, yellow holographic striped lines flashing, warning the driver of the truck that they went way over the lines.

"The silent alarms must be going off," said Brian, trying to ignore Gia's mortal wound. "They might be waiting for us inside."

"Stitch said no more than two armed guards are inside. Let's make it four since everything is FUBAR," shouted Dad as Mom pressed the shotgun's barrel against the door lock at a forty-five degree angle.

"Aim for the legs and wound," said Gia, "I don't want to kill anyone else."

"That's the plan, my beautiful darling," Dad said, stroking the back of Gia's hooded head. "You've made us proud."

Mom's shotgun racked back from the recoil and Gia heard the mighty sound it made when not muffled by her mask's dampeners. Her eyelids fluttered and the concussion hit her nasal passages like a hand clashing with her face. Mom spun around and kicked the door in, letting the three of them walk right into the hallway.

"Nashira, Gia, head out to the lobby and secure the doors, Brian and I will head towards the vault. That's where the security officers should be," ordered Dad, making his way down the marbled hallway, walking on an invisible tightrope with Brian on his six.

"_We are doing the right thing. We are the good guys. This is good_," whispered Gia, able to smile. Robbing a bank was the opposite of being the good guys, but in this instance, under these circumstances, it was right. They had to do this.

Gia had to make it through this.

See it to the end.

Gia went first, rifle aimed at the intersection of the hallway. The lights strung into the elaborate crown molding were not flashing. Everything appeared normal.

It was a silent alarm after all.

Brian and Dad rounded the corner, taking a left. Gia could see the blueprint in her mind. They had to take a right and that would lead them into the main lobby.

The two quarians slipped around the corner.

There was one more bend—a left turn.

People had obviously heard the bang of the breach and were talking louder than normal. They were not panicking.

_Yet._

Gia sloshed against the wall and peeked around the corner, her rifle pointed to the ground. The room was three stories tall, stone pillars reaching to the ceiling that were tiled holographic screens, advertising the pros of opening an account with King's Bank. A crescent moon shaped desk dominated the far wall, opposite of where Gia and Mom crept and to the right of that were the glass windows and doors looking out into the street.

Mom tapped Gia's shoulder and they flew out into the atrium.

"Everyone down on the ground!" shouted Gia, scanning for hostile targets.

In the back rooms where Dad and Brian were, there were controlled gunshots and female screams of pain.

A hush fell over the crowd and then a contagion of panic struck with the ferocity of a biological air-burst weapon, a crescendo of screams and chaos.

An asari in blue ceramic armor unfolded a rifle to Gia's immediate left and took cover behind a red chair. Without hesitation, Gia fired two bursts through the stuffed chair. Blue blood fanned out on the floor behind the seat and the asari's voice sliced through the air and cleaved into Gia. A blue silhouette fell onto the ground, clasping her knee that had been blown clean off.

Gia's heart skipped a beat as she assured herself that the doctors will be able to help the guard.

"Clear!" shouted Mom, skipping to the doors and waving to the King's Bank customers to leave immediately.

"We are not here for your things. We are not here for your life. We are not here to hurt you," shouted Gia, the lack of electronic tinge to her voice beautifully disturbing.

Gia ran and crouched over the wounded guard.

"You bitch," spouted the poor woman.

"I'm _so_ sorry," whispered Gia.

She felt like a criminal.

From the back, more gunshots erupted.

Outside of the bank, blue and red oscillating lights and shrieking sirens possessed Gia with refined fear and dread.

Whatever they are looking for better be in that vault.

"You two," said Mom, pointing at a salarian and an asari customer, "Help this poor woman. Get her medical attention as soon as possible!"

The two people feared a bullet would scrape their skulls, but to their relief, nothing happened. They dragged the guard outside and to safety. The bank tellers, half volus, half asari, were encased in ballistic bubbles. Nothing could penetrate them and there was no need to. They were not a threat.

Casually, Gia waved to them, fired off a bloated smile and went to Mom.

"Gia, honey."

"Yeah, Mom?"

Nashira Heiko stared down into her daughter's broken face and blitzed orange veil covering her beauty.

"I love you, darling."

"I know, Mom. Come on, let's get this over with."

Outside, more police vehicles and a CSSR van pulled up. They must've been close to the bank for them to arrive this quickly. Gia shot a glance at her watch. Thirty seconds had passed and CSSR had showed up. Dad's forty second estimation for their arrival was close. Men and women of Citadel Security were waiting outside for more information on the situation and Dad's old friends were eager, probably biting and nipping at the chance to get inside and kill a couple of alleged terrorists that 'betrayed' them ten years before.

"Toby, are you guys okay?" asked Mom through her headset.

"Goddamn it," cursed Dad. "We accidentally killed one. There are four incapacitated, no injury on our side."

Gia's throat swelled as she tried to swallow a clenched fist lodged in her throat. This was not how the robbery was supposed to go. No one was supposed to die.

"We have another problem here," said Brian, his voice showing no sign of fear or anxiety. He was frosty and in control of everything, providing Gia with some perverted form of a morale boost. "No one knows the combination to the vault. We shot the only person who knew it that is in our immediate vicinity."

Mom cursed and helped Gia run towards the back. The sounds of the city faded as both Gia and her mother went to the back of the bank.

The blue street outside burned in Gia's mind.

The jeweled crown—King's Bank logo throbbed in her mind's eye.

Everything Doctor Liebermann had said two days ago was true. The outrageous dream was ludicrously coming to life. They were close to the end and Gia needed to figure this out and save everyone.

Both quarians burst through a full body metal detector that wailed and flashed red, finding themselves in an open metal room and in the presence of a ten foot diameter vault door that must be as thick as Gia is tall. An asari leaned against the wall with two in the chest, one in the head.

"She was not going down. I had to shoot her," muttered Dad and punched a metal table, smearing blood on the cold top.

"I told her to stand down!"

Brian leaned against a wall, rubbing his chin and keeping an eye on four handcuffed guards, bellies against the floor and heads facing the wall.

They didn't even know what hit them.

Two had wounds in their shins, the others were untouched—surrendered after being attacked by two N7 operatives, CSSR agents, and potential Citadel Spectres.

Gia pointed at the dead guard and said, "So she was the only one that knew the code?"

Mom slid an arm around her ex-husband's waist and consoled him.

"We tried," said Brian after he stopped scratching his chin and began pacing. "What now?" he asked.

"Well, I saw a lot of your old friends outside," said Gia, pressing a hand against the vault door, feeling the last taunting piece of this puzzle.

It was machined to perfection, was heavy, and cold.

No one was getting inside of it without the combination. With a sumptuous amount of effort, Gia held her arm up to check the clock. They had ten minutes left.

She sighed, pressed her back against the vault door and slid down it, plopping onto the ground.

"_Ahhhh_, that feels great," she whispered and closed her eyes.

"We should try to talk to someone before CSSR blows the doors on us," said Brian, throwing his machine-pistol to the floor, furious that they had failed. "We know how they are and what they will do when they come for us, Toby. Standard procedure for armed bank robbers is to open fire. Breach and clear."

"What do we tell them?" asked Gia, opening one eye. "We had a dream about the destruction of everything we know and love in the galaxy?" Gia cackled and said, "Good luck with that."

It had not hit her yet that the mission they so blindly threw themselves at was at a dead end. All those people in the streets, everyone back on Bekenstein, Chef Athena, everyone, would perish.

"The least we can do is get Gia medical attention!" shouted Dad.

"Dad, I'm already done. I'm freakin' spent."

Her father knelt before his daughter and took one of her little feet in hand and rubbed.

"Remember when I used to give you foot massages before you went to school."

"I loved them."

"I know you did." Dad sniffled and continued, "I am so damn proud of you, Gia. So is Mommy."

Mom crouched next to Dad and grabbed Gia's hand. "We are going to get you out of here."

For the first time ever, Gia stared at Mom without an orange smoked veil with one eye.

"I have accepted my fate. I just hope you accept mine as well," she said to her parents.

Dad's upper lip trembled and he grabbed his gun.

"I am going to persuade them," he said, running off with insurmountable determination in complete denial. Mom and Brian chased after him, shouting orders to get back, leaving Gia alone with the vault door. Slowly, cautiously, Gia spun on her bottom and patted the door, accepting that they never thought about trying to get past this bad boy.

"I never thought I would be so unhappy at a piece of gorgeous engineering."

She patted it again and sighed, feeling her lungs burn. It was becoming hard to breathe, but quarians don't die immediately. She was going to have a slow and painful death. She stood up and checked her watch.

Nine more minutes.

The hands of her watch seamlessly spun on the numbers—the digits, until it clicked to zero.

Gia gasped and staggered backwards.

Numbers.

"315, 98, 76, 12. _98, 76, 12_," she breathed. "The numbers."

Gia's fingers brushed over the spinners that boasted numbers, zero through one-hundred.

"The numbers are a lock combination! I cannot believe it!"

Chewing on her tongue, Gia twisted the spinner. She thought a vault door like this would have more than three pairs of numbers to put i, but then again, the simpler the problem, the harder it will be for a smart crook to figure it out. Her stomach jiggled with joy, fingers trembled, and she lost her grip on her rifle. It bounced and clattered to the floor as she was overwhelmed with euphoria.

She figured it out.

She was going to do it.

There was no time to let her parents know.

She had to open it herself and find out what was inside.

"Keelah," she muttered. "I hope this works."

She twisted the spinner to _98_, spun left to _76_, then right to _12 _and shut her eyes. Her shoulders scrunched up when she heard a heavy _clack_.

It unlocked.

She was too frightened to open the door, but she was on a timeframe that was moving ruthlessly towards its final destination and was not going to arrive late. With both hands, she spun the submarine-like wheel on the vault and spun.

Fast.

Faster.

_Faster_.

The chromed wheel was a mirrored blur and she could see her reflection in it. Half of her face was basted in sweat and speckled in red blood that was not hers.

The wheel stopped and the door hissed and popped open a couple of centimeters.

Gia laughed, shut her eyes, and ripped the vault door open.

"I got you," she whispered, opening her eyes to feast them on whatever was at the end of her journey.

Slowly, she lifted her eyelids and went cross-eyed when she was glaring down the threaded neck of a pistol.

"I promised you, Gia, that next time I saw you, I would not hesitate to shoot."

"Walter," whispered Gia.

Gia flinched, ears rung, and vision flashed white.

She pressed two fingers to her stomach and when she pulled them away, blood saturated the tips.

Gia staggered foreword and tried to keep from falling from the gunshot that ripped through her abdomen. Gia hissed blood, took another step, and fell into Walter's chest, her elegant figure clinging to his broad one.

"Gia, it's all over," he said, patting her back. "You performed excellently."

Gia moaned and coughed blood onto his suited shoulder, eyes bulging with shock and denial.

It… actually did not hurt so much. She expected a bullet ripping through her abdomen to be devastating, but it wasn't too bad.

What did hurt was Walter's touch.

It was delicate but seared her skin.

Over his shoulder, she saw something else—a safety deposit box with a brass plate riveted to the face numbered _315_.

"Three-fifteen," she sputtered.

"Yes. It is the time of the Devil, when the barriers of this world and our own become so thin that demons are able to cross the threshold into our world. In that box, Gia, you will find what you are seeking."

Walter set Gia on the floor and said, "But that will not happen, my little goddess—my Aurora. You do not even have the strength to kill me where I stand."

Walter pressed a foot on Gia's stomach and ground his polished leather shoe into her wound.

The pain Gia felt was unlike anything she imagined a person would be able to withstand. She tried screaming, searched for any leftover breath, but could not find it.

"You played God for long enough. God does not like fake surrogates of himself. Your time is up," he said.

Gia tried bracing the weight he was putting onto her wound with her slippery hands, but they just squealed off his shoes.

Unexpectedly, Walter leaned down to Gia and handed her his pistol. He cupped it onto her grip and kissed the back of her hand.

"If you have the strength, I will allow you to shoot me," he said, sliding the rubber grip of the gun that shot Gia in her slick fist. "If you are able to kill me, I have found a worthy adversary to take me down."

Gia coughed more blood and stared at the pistol in her hands with disbelief. He had just given her a live weapon to kill him with.

"I can promise you, Gia, God will not allow me to die," he smirked. "He has a plan for me, a predetermined path I must walk. You, Gia Heiko, cannot block that path."

Gia's hands trembled and she taxed her strength. Gravity was fighting her, pushing down—this invisible force was pitched against her.

"_Try harder_," said Walter, his voice booming, lips wet with maniacal stains of drool, eyes marbled red, and pale skin flush.

"_Do it_," he said, ushering her to the task. "I _want_ you to kill me," he cried.

"G-g-go," stuttered Gia, straining to get the barrel pointed at his face.

This was the pivotal moment in Gia's life, not back in the spaceport. Not even at Dad's house. He was right. Gia was not supposed to kill Walter back there. That was not the time. This path Walter spoke of that was not to be blocked by Gia's actions was true. Gia was not going to block it. Could not block it. As a matter of fact, Gia was to dynamite the ever living shit out of Walter's predestined path.

"_G-go t-t-to_..."

"What are you trying to say?" screamed Walter, grinding his heel into her bullet wound. "_Say it_!"

"_Go to hell_!"

Her arms jerked upwards and she fired a slug right into his open mouth.

The look of surprise on his face when the bullet exploded out the back of his head was relieving. The pistol flew out of her hand and over her head from the hard recoil and she laughed, flinging blood into the air. Rolling over, she was able to get to her feet.

Walter was dead.

He deserved it.

Keelah, there was so much blood.

Her back was bleeding far worse than her front. Bending over Walter's motionless corpse, she spit in his face, and plucked a bronze key from his breast pocket that she could feel digging into her chest when leaning on him.

"You can do this, Gia Heiko. You can do this," she told herself, struggling to get to her feet.

She collapsed onto the wall of white locked boxes and pressed the key into _315_. It was about one foot tall, three feet wide, and three feet deep when she ripped it out of the wall sending it crashing to the floor.

"What's in here?" she asked.

"Oh my god," shouted Dad as he sprinted into the room. "She's in here! Christ, Gia, wha-what happened?"

"Plugged him," she said, throwing a thumb over her shoulder.

Mom shrieked when she entered and flew to Gia's aid.

"You're shot, baby!"

"Yup," she said back and twisted the key.

"Brian, she got the vault open and is hurt badly!" shouted Dad outside of the vault. "Walter's here as well!"

Drops of blood dribbled the top of the gloss white metal case and Gia smeared them with her hands when she tore open the container.

"What's in there?" she asked and shortly after, found out.

It was a black suitcase and as heavy as Walter's corpse.

"_Woah shit_," exclaimed Brian who at a full sprint, burst through the vault doorway. Gia peered to him and gave him a shaky thumbs up.

"We got it, Uncle Brian. We got the thing," she said, opening the briefcase. "I need to see what is inside."

Gia cocked her head to the right, puzzled at what she was looking at. There were many cords running to and from the sides of the briefcase and a yellow and black symbol Gia's brain could not comprehend, but shook her where she heaved blood and mucus into the briefcase.

Then, it all hit her at once.

The sunrise.

Aurora.

The unexplained heat of the dream.

What Gia was staring at was a nuclear warhead.

"He… kept calling me Aurora," said Gia, more to herself than her party. "Aurora flies across the sky to meet the sunrise every morning. Stars are essentially nuclear reactions and what is in this suitcase is a sun. I… _am _Aurora."

She felt like throwing up when she peered at Walter's slowly seeping body.

"Dad, it's not a sunrise we were seeing and feeling, it was the blast of a thermonuclear detonation. We were being vaporized in the dream."

She recited _Humpty Dumpty_.

"_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,  
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.  
All the king's horses and all the king's men  
Couldn't put Humpty together again."_

"Oh Keelah," said Gia. "We got the riddle wrong!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Dad. Gia stared at the three. Mom's eyes were wide open, Dad was panting, and Brian was staring at the briefcase, mortified.

"Humpy Dumpty is King's Bank. The wall is the Citadel."

"I don't get it, Gia!" shouted Dad.

"All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty back together again. It is talking about the blast and how galactic civilization cannot restores itself if this thing goes off. Different species: men and horse. Different species! Man and aliens. People will point fingers when this bomb turns everything into ash. What Walter and Andrea Strong were trying to do was spark a galactic war by blowing up the Citadel. People will blame the humans, humans will blame us aliens. Andrea will admit to blowing it up. She works for the human government. King's Bank is the financial center of the galaxy. If it's gone, we're all gone."

Gia struggled to get to her knees.

"How are we going to disarm this bomb?" asked Mom.

"I… don't know," said Gia.

"Did we miss anything in the dream, Gia?" asked Dad, voice quivering.

"_I don't know._"

Gia shot a glance at her watch.

"We have eight minutes to figure this out."

"Actually, we have less," said Brian, slowly backing out of the vault.

"What?" asked Dad.

"Remember when I was on the news when everyone's fuckin' heads exploded? Yeah, that was a contract job I had with Andrea Strong. I was part of the team that had to escort her to King's Bank."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" shouted Mom, standing yet still holding Gia's hand.

Brian ignored Mom and said, "The thing was, I don't think we were protecting Andrea Strong. There were two Spiders there, one I killed in the bathroom and one that is dead in the back of the truck." Brian pointed at the briefcase. "I have seen that bag before. One of the Spiders had it handcuffed to his wrist."

Brian stuck a new heatsink in his weapon and ran a paw over his slick bald head.

"Oh my god," he muttered, stepping out of the vault.

"What is your goddamn point, Brian?" shouted Dad.

"The other Spider had a briefcase identical to that one."

Gia closed her eyes and felt her heart drop. It whistled on the way down and splashed at the bottom.

"The only part of the dream we haven't figured out yet," she whispered. "The two yolks." Gia shot a fierce glance at Dad.

"There are two bombs, not one."


	12. Chapter Eleven - Eight Minutes

44

**The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter Eleven - Eight Minutes**

Gia stepped in the riptide of blood spreading from the back of Walter's skull. He lay supine, peeled open, with an esoteric smile on his dead lips. Gia had killed him, but the nightmare's perseverance had stubbornly not released it's taloned grip from Gia's draining brain.

She was dying.

The gunshot wound to her stomach was throbbing—the bullet had bored a clean tunnel right through her and the walls were pulsating, burning, both the exit and entrance wound seeping blood. Her suit had tried to suppress the open wound with coagulant and Dad had applied a liberal layer of medi-gel to the basted crater in his daughter's torso.

No father should have to witness their child bleed out from a gunshot wound.

"It's going to be okay," whispered Dad with a crumbling smile. He swiped medi-gel onto her wound with toilet paper he got in the bathroom. It was the cleanest swab he could find and Gia allowed it. She knew this was the end, but they had to keep fighting for another eight minutes.

Dad turned Gia onto her side and checked her back.

"There isn't much blood coming out of your back. You are going to be fine," he said.

"Yeah," breathed Gia, gripping his hand. "We have eight minutes," she reminded the three, all staring with pity glistening eyes. Mom and Dad leaned forward, waiting for Gia to say something else, like "goodbye," or "I love you."

It was not time for that. They still had a job to do and Gia was far away from giving up. Billions of lives anchored on her actions, hung on every word coming out of her mouth in the next eight minutes.

She had to stay strong.

What mattered was not Gia's health, but finding the second bomb. After Gia opened the vault door, after Walter shot her, Gia had discovered there were two bombs.

_The two yolks. How could I have been so stupid not to realize it?_

Their dream had been solved, their antagonist slain, and the puzzle figured out, but the last piece had to be found.

Adrenaline was all that kept Gia from collapsing. The fever was gripping her throat, strangulating her into utter submission. She did not have long until she went into shock.

Then died.

"We must talk our way out of this," said Dad, pulling Gia to her feet. "Up, come on, Gia."

Gia scooped up her assault rifle laying outside of the vault door, right where she had dropped it before opening the once locked door.

_Keelah, it feels like a million pounds._

Trillions of lives potentially rested in her ability to use the weapon to protect her wellbeing. Gia possessed the power to stop the bombs from going off, even if they did not yet know how to halt the detonation. There was still a chance and that singular thought was enough to keep her momentum chugging forward. Nothing was going to stop her from giving up. She had never backed away or surrendered from anything in her life. If it possessed a challenge, Gia would grin and tackle it, no matter its imposing size or heinous difficulty. It was one trait that she had carried with her throughout her whole life. Without it, she would have ended her life long ago. To solve this problem—the two bombs—they needed one thing.

A bomb squad.

Furiously, Gia chased her memories of the dream in search of the deactivation code. She had used all of the numbers, every trick the dream contained. She waded through the empty void of memories and came out empty handed when reopening her eyes.

She had nothing.

Gia's feet squeaked in blood as the four of them made their way out of the vault. The sirens cried outside, an allegorical cacophony of lamenting ghosts that would soon haunt the Citadel's empty husk if the warheads detonated.

Hobbling, Gia stole one last glance at Walter before they turned the corner. He had taught Gia so much about herself that she almost wanted to salute his corpse.

Gia screamed when her wound throbbed and a salient, fine-cut pain sliced up her side. Her nervous system was still working, as was her body. The pain was good, a biological reminder that she was still operating.

Keelah, this was all a nightmare.

"At any moment now, my alarm clock will go off," said Gia, limping and clinging onto Dad's shoulder. "_Ding ding ding ding!_ Four-thirty in the morning and off I go to work. Grab my bags, my homework, and wrestle with my usual hangover." Gia laughed. It hurt like hell. "I will go into work, bitch and moan to Bernie and cook pancakes and bacon for eight hours, just the way I like it." Her face scrunched up when she heard torrents of C-Sec sirens ripping around the corners and hallways of the bank as they made their way towards the lobby. "The thing is, I don't _think_ I will be waking up. I will be falling asleep for a long time." She sighed. "Dad?"

He could not speak, but hooked his arms around Gia's legs and lifted her into the air.

Gia gasped, but could feel her suit's morphine injections kicking in. Her suit was working overtime.

"We are going to get you to a hospital," he whispered, burying his face into her neck. "I don't think I can save us, but I will save you, darling. I _will _save you."

Brian, face plaster white, freckled with sweat and blue blood, clasped onto the briefcase. He was sweating daggers. Mom squeezed Gia's foot and stared into her baby's face.

"Mom knows," said Gia.

"Know what? Nash, what do you know?"

"I…" she breathed in and choked down a cry. "It will take a miracle to save Gia's life," admitted Mom. "She's too far…" Mom could not finish her sentence.

"Well, I will fucking make a miracle," growled Dad, rounding the corner and finding themselves in the lobby of King's Bank, the financial center of the galaxy that was about to go up in atomic flames. Gia shielded her eyes from the burning phosphorous lights of the vehicles. Her ringing ears quivered at the sound outside, her right eardrum ruptured from gunfire in enclosed spaces.

"Drop the weapons and raise your hands!" shouted a voice from outside. Dad's body stuttered, nervously recoiling from the recognizable voice.

"It's Komani," said Brian. "Our old commander."

"Do as she says," said Dad. "Drop the weapons or they will not hesitate to open fire. We have no hostages and no collateral."

Gia did not want to drop her weapon. It was the only thing that could possibly get them out of this bank. Her hand was tight on the grip, but her arm dangled loosely towards the ground. If Dad could not persuade them with a silver tongue, they were going to be forced to shoot their way out of here. That option will only end in bloodshed.

"Heiko? Is that you?" asked the asari from somewhere in the crowd with an intercom. Her voice was harsh, almost deep enough to pass as a man's—centuries of smoking and throat cancer.

Dad nodded and dropped his weapon.

"What in the hell are you doing robbing a bank?" she shouted. "We thought you were dead. By the goddess, is that Hilliard as well? Nashira, your wife and your daughter, Gia? What are you up to, Heiko?" she asked. Gia could still not pick her face from the crowd. She was shocked that Konami remembered Gia's name. Then again, she was the CSSR commander who helped kidnap Gia ten years ago. All of Dad's nightmares were coming full circle and about to crash, pileup, and explode.

Dropping his weapon, Brian saluted the blockade of police vehicles with a cocky smirk.

"Hilliard, why did you kill Pira?" asked the commander, loosening her grip on professionalism in order to feed her morbid curiosity.

They could not speak to Komani through the glass, so they ignored her. She was using an electronic amplifier, they had their voices.

"You two damn well know the drill—you know standard procedure. If you don't come out peacefully, we are going to blow the doors on you and your old co-workers are going to drop you—two in the chest, one to the head, you got me? You are surrounded and are not going to get out of this one. There's no way," said the CSSR commander. Gia watched as an asari, bigger than she had ever seen, part the crown. Half her head was alloy and Gia could tell from the voice to her appearance, Commander Komani was a ferocious bitch. Dad and Uncle Brian were trained by her—served her and were baptized in fire by her.

Gia held her father in a higher regard than she had before. Soon, his heroic stature was going to break through the ceiling if he did not stop proving at how badass he was.

As the CSSR commander's speech ended, Gia could see a mobilization of troops behind the vehicles stack up around the building, near the front doors, away from the glass of course, and a unit circle around the back.

With all of Dad's voice, he said, "Bring in a negotiator, quick. I must speak to one," and backed behind a pillar, still holding onto Gia gingerly. "Everyone, get behind cover. There are C-Sec officers out there with itchy trigger fingers and guns pointed at us. We have a history with them. They might break and drop us."

Gia pushed her head into Dad's chest and coughed a spray of blood into his collar.

"Oh my god, Gia."

"Dad, it's okay," she whispered, wiping off her chin and staring gently into Dad's constrained face. "This is the second time you have seen my face, isn't it?"

"You're just as beautiful as I remember."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"I probably look like a red sand addict clown that got mauled by a varren."

Dad laughed and squeezed her.

"I have no energy," she admitted, breathless. "I will try to push on, but I... I don't think I can."

"Wait until the adrenaline hits," whispered Dad smiling. "It's going to wake you right up." She always liked his smile and how his root beer colored eyes went almond shaped to a semi-circle. He always looked harmless and kind.

Behind the pillar, Gia could hear the revolving glass door hiss as it brought in a negotiator.

"I love you, baby. This will end well," he said with a smile and kissed her cheek.

His lips were warm and his breath smelled like peppermint.

Without poking his head around the corner, Dad yelled, "We need an E.O.D unit as soon as possible. We have a bomb in our possession that needs to be disarmed," said Dad, rounding the corner. "I also have a wounded quarian that's about to go into shock. She has inhaled unfiltered air and is running hot. You must help—"

Dad stopped short and ceased walking like he had seen a ghost. Gia looked to see what he had seen.

In fact, it was worse. He was staring down Death.

A woman with a fully equipped tactical vest stood before them. She bore a black skirt and business jacket under the police clothing, black high heel shoes and grinned a bloody smile, one eye covered with a black lick of hair.

"Andrea Strong," said Gia.

"Toby, Gia, you have eight minutes," said the politician with an egotistical smile. "_Tick, tick, tick_," she mocked, tapping her wrist.

Dad took a step back.

With a finger, Ms. Strong waved at them and said, "_Uh-uh_, that's not a good idea. There are sharpshooters out there. If you run for cover, they won't hesitate to shoot both of you." With two fingers, Strong plied them into a shape of a gun and took aim. "_Bang—bang._"

Gia squirmed in Dad's grip, wanting to tear this woman apart.

"Let me get to her, Dad. I want to kill her."

Gia's voice shook with hatred and was seeing through a wet mist of blood—a heavy haze of purified, two-hundred proof animosity towards her.

"Gia Heiko, I have heard a lot about you," said Strong.

"Have you heard about my temper?" asked Gia. "I'm nitroglycerin."

"Oh?"

Her voice trembled as she stared down the woman willing to sacrifice herself to kill billions of peaceful people: "If you win this, with every neutron, electron, and proton in my existing form, my throbbing hatred towards you will persist throughout every passing second of this universe until everything goes black, bitch."

"So you're a poet? How cute," said Strong, her voice hardening. "It's hatred like you have that spins civilizations into chaos."

"Hatred towards monsters like you is what keeps us balance. Sometimes one must hate."

Andrea ignored Gia and shouted to Brian taking cover behind one of the marble pillars, "Iapetus, that move of flushing your gun down the toilet was good. It fooled us."

From around the pillar, he flashed her a middle finger.

Strong chuckled. "I heard that when Walter killed you girlfriend, Pira, he almost blew her in half."

The CSSR team from behind the glass could not hear Strong's poisonous, devious words. Gia wished they could.

Brian was quiet.

Andrea Strong walked towards Gia and Dad, her high heels clicking—a gun chambering a bullet.

"I saw pictures of her body. I can only imagine how pretty of a girl she was before she met Walter's reckoning. What a pity. From what Walter said, you two had been in love for the longest time. He told me that before he killed her, she was about to say something to you. Her voice according to Walter, 'was clogged with untapped emotion. She was about to spill everything to him'." Strong paced in front of Toby and pulled a picture from her pocket. "There's nothing left to say now," she said, flinging the photograph towards Brian's pillar. "That was in her bathroom, a picture of you two, together, ten years ago. It's a damn shame you didn't say anything to her."

Brian, still quiet behind the pillar, picked up the photo. He recognized it.

"Walter said he showed it to you, but I want you to have it so when we put you into a body bag—zip you up and incinerate you at the crematorium, your pile of ash will always have a little bit of Pira in it."

"Gia," continued Strong, high off her power and control—she enjoyed manipulating her pawns. She controlled the board and Gia, thinking a mile a minute, could not see a way out of this. They were surrounded by CSSR operatives and the clock was ticking closer to detonation. Strong wanted front row seats—she had planned this. She had tied down the four of them on a railroad with a train barreling towards them, its light bright, horn blaring, and had included herself. She had tied herself down and was watching, laughing. What Gia was witnessing was a rampant egomania filled psychopath acting upon her twisted fantasy.

"Speaking of which, where's Walter?" asked Strong, still smiling. "I take it he found you," she smiled, pointing at Gia's stomach.

"I shot him in the face," said Gia, her voice more powerful than before. "Right here, in the mouth," she pointed, jabbing a finger down her mouth.

"Y-you killed it?" asked Strong, dropping her guard and allowing astonishment to burn through her stoic personality.

"He's dead in the vault."

Gia grinned and chuckled, "He's human like the rest of us. All it takes is one bullet to the skull."

"_B-but_," stuttered Strong and said more to herself than to Gia or Toby, "They don't go down that fast."

Andrea Strong's head snapped to something over Toby's shoulder and a volcanic smile erupted over those molten lips.

"That's what I thought," she said, shying away from Toby.

A gunshot detonated from behind Gia and it felt like Dad had been hit by electricity. He screamed and collapsed to the floor, throwing Gia from his grip. She hit the ground hard and bounced, skidded to a halt, blood chasing her.

"_Dad!_"

"It's him!" screamed Mom, "He's back! Brian, what are you doing?"

Fire bolted through Gia's abdomen, thinking that she was going to blackout from pain. The exuberance and intensity the pain flared, humbling Gia. She gasped for air and spun over onto her belly, eyes answering the call of the gunshot. Walter, with rifle at shoulder level, charged from the hallway into the lobby.

"_How is that possible_?" gasped Gia.

Brian charged Walter with both hands outstretched and gunned towards the Spider's neck. Walter lowered his weapon and allowed Brian to crash into him.

He let Brian choke him.

Her uncle's arms ballooned and his skin was flushed with rage, veins inflating like blue elastic pipelines. Walter was no longer recognizable as the calm and controlled man she once knew. All humanistic value and characteristics had disappeared, replaced with bestial and animalistic attributes only known to the caliber of mythological creatures. His blond hair was matted down, red with blood, eyes squinting, mouth a wet maw.

Brian choked him and Mom hit the freak in the head with the stock of her shotgun. Gia was afraid the sharpshooters were going to kill Mom, but no bullets wailed through the glass and made friends with her flesh. Walter hissed, grabbed Mom by the neck and threw her into a wall. Gia watched Mom's scintillating eyes go dark and cringed upon hearing something break on impact. Only in movies had Gia seen someone throw another person like that. Walter was destroying physics.

Gia screamed and grappled Dad's squirming form on the floor.

Dad clutched at his own neck, blood squirting from between his fingers, eyes wide and glistening. She did not see her dad in those dark eyes.

No, she stared into the face of a man strangled with fear, acknowledging a kill shot.

"Dad, no!"

Gia's brain saw this and gave her another shot of adrenaline. She pressed both hands on his two larger ones.

"Apply pressure, Dad. Apply more goddamn pressure! It will… it will stop the bleeding!"

Dad kicked at the ground, the rubber soles of his shoes marking the pale floor and on his side, watched Brian struggle with Walter. Her uncle was a killer, trained through the years on how to kill swiftly. He was one of the best, until Walter, laughing, drooling blood from his unrecognizable mouth, stuck the barrel of his rifle against Brian's ribs and fired a shot.

"_No_!"

"Gia, you have seven minutes!" shouted Strong, patting her on the back. "What are you going to do without your family? You just watched them all go. They may not be dead yet, but you watched, helplessly, as Walter took them out. _Less than_ _seven minutes_."

"_Strong_!" screamed Walter, dropping Brian who gasped for air, clutching his side as his shirt swelled with a red stain. "_What am I? Who am I?_"

"You are my tool of destruction. That is it, a tool. Or, are you asking for the truth?"

"I want to know! There is something wrong with me," asked Walter, staggering toward Gia.

"Take one more step and I will order the sharpshooters to converge fire on your center of mass, don't think I'm lying," she said, black eyes pooling with control and laced with fear. She took a step back. Walter's form was throbbing with menace. He shouldn't be alive.

Gia continued to press on Dad's neck. She could hear him gurgling on his own blood. The shot not only nicked his artery, it tore into his throat. He would drown before bleeding out. Gia pushed him onto his side and blood gushed from his mouth.

"Your wife, Melissa," said Strong, "She was a biological engineer. She built you. You are no more than four years old, a mere _infant_. The people who constructed you call you a MTRD—a Militarized Tactical Reconnaissance Drone. They are the same people who built a fully functioning pig brain and put it into a naturally born body and named it Dave."

Gia closed her eyes and searched through her memories. The previous night, when falling asleep to vids, they watched a program about that. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what she and her mom talked about.

_ Dad was passed out on his chair, mouth slung open, spittle dribbling onto his white shirt. _

_The man on the vids talked about 3D printers and how effective they were at building houses, organs, and even on building a functioning brain for a pig named Dave. _

_ "It's interesting," whispered Mom, the dim light from the television outlining her figure._

_ Gia inhaled sleepily and pulled her bony knees under her chin on the futon. "What's interesting?"_

_ "Building a brain. I mean, how are they going to do that?"_

_ "Well, we did that hundreds of years ago with the geth."_

_ Mom yawned and pulled her legs off the ground and tucked them under her chin like Gia. "I would have thought building a brain organically would cross the line with laws? Isn't that similar to making an A.I?"_

_ "A.I. _Artificial_ Intelligence, Mom." Gia whispered. _

_ "Artificial means anything built from a person. Would that make an organic self aware brain?"_

_ Gia grabbed a folded blanket from under the coffee table and hugged it._

_ "I don't know."_

"They did it," whispered Gia, peering at Walter, the machine.

"_What_?" whimpered Walter.

"I must admit, I am one of the few people who knew about their project. There were tests and experiments on building an organic brain for a human and they succeeded. The human government caught wind of this remarkable creation and thought it was a miracle. You know the government," laughed Strong. "They want to militarize anything and everything that has immense power. Instead of using this new 'brain' for doing good, Melissa's team began making homegrown super soldiers that were identical to organics, except they used better materials and changed the genetic code. You can heal faster, run quicker, are stronger, are smarter, and more powerful than any human. Walter, you are a weapon. So, this is where it gets interesting."

Strong peered at her clock.

"Melissa implanted her husband's memory and genetic code into you, Walter. She was so invested in the human side of her weapons. She wanted to give you emotions, memories… a soul. Did you notice that Jack, Melissa's husband and co-worker looked extremely similar to you, Walter, when you killed them a little bit ago?"

Gia remembered seeing the picture of Jack that Mom had found on the extranet and Walter did look just like Jack, but the freak was more handsome, younger, and flawless.

"They implanted your whole past into that weapon lodged in your head. The N7 training, growing up on Earth, falling in love with Paris as a child, everything. Melissa wanted you to be flawed, wanted you to be _sympathetic_ and _sympathize_ even if you were made to kill Spectres."

Walter's face contorted.

"Yes, Walter, that part—those memories are actually yours. You really did kill Spectres, all three in total. It is a special skill you have. You, Walter, are not special... yet you _are_," she said, smiling.

Walter's cold eyes had melted with molten rage.

"I say you are not special because there is an exact copy of you that is now dead. His name was Tom, nicknamed Black Widow, the operative that killed Julia Liebermann in New York City a couple of days ago. I had ordered Brown Recluse to kill Black Widow after it took down its target, one of the Dreamcatcher's founders. That itch on the back of your skull means that your brain was somehow connected to your genetic clone, like a hive mind. I saw you scratching it when we had dinner. Fascinating stuff."

Gia could remember Walter scratching the back of his head right after she assaulted Dad's house back on Bekenstein. His finger was bloody, but she cannot remember giving him that wound.

"Why did you kill him?" asked Walter, voice flooded with maniacal sadness and confusion.

"I killed _it _because it said it could dream back in New York. It had ascended to… something else. There is something about your coding that any MTRD with that DNA comes closer to being human. Remember, you are _not_ a human, but born from the tip of a needle and by technology. You should not be able to love or dream or believe in a higher power, which brings me to my next point. Why were you locked up in Hubris? This is where you have failed me, Walter. Harris and Julia Liebermann were indeed co-leaders of the Dreamcatcher agency. Notice I say _co-_leaders. The 'unknown fourth' I mentioned is the one you have not found, nor do I know who he is. Remember, I gave you _four_ targets to kill. Luckily, they have run away and are letting the galaxy burn by not trying to stop us. This fourth, he is the one who put you in that prison because he saw your first dream and knew what you were, after you joined the S.P.I.D.R agency. You had become a Dreamcatcher. Your brain was evolving even though it was artificially created. Now, what scared me even more was when you told me that you believed in a god. You had a religion, Walter. No, that could not happen in an artificial brain. You had developed into an A.I. or something that could not be identified as such. A human. You created a soul and followed a false deity. Your god was artificially created in that artificial brain of yours. That cannot happen. You, Walter, are a _freak _with skills that far surpass all of ours. You are the most deadly, dare I say _being_, in this galaxy. Although, I will have to applaud you. We have singlehandedly taken down the entire Milky Way."

Strong looked at her watch.

"_Six_ minutes, Gia Heiko. What are you going to do? Your dad is bleeding out, as is your Uncle Brian. Mom is hurt over there," said Strong, pointing towards the corner. Andrea Strong's face went from overwhelming pride to consumed by horror.

"I am not down yet you _bitch_!"

Mom stood behind Andrea with a shotgun to her skull. Walter smirked as Nashira had gotten back up and Walter allowed her to pick up the shotgun and flank Strong. The police sharpshooters did not fire. If they did, their rounds would over-penetrate and kill a government official.

"You sh-shoot me, you go down by sniper fire," stuttered Andrea.

"_That's fine by me_."

Mom pulled the trigger and made Andrea Strong's head meaty confetti. At the same time, there was a tremendous bang outside and Gia screamed, anticipating to be showered by pieces of Mom.

She had shut her eyes while still holding fast to Dad's neck, not wanting to open her eyes and meet Mom's dead face and bullet hole riddled body.

Her entire family had been taken from her in the flicker of an eye.

She had no more than five minutes until detonation, though Gia felt it was best to stay here with the only parent she had left and let C-Sec arrest them. Only then might they see the bomb and disarm it.

Yet the other one was still out there, ticking.

_Tick-tock. _

It was game over.

Another bang roared from outside and the entire bank shook, throwing Gia to the floor, on top of Dad.

She did not want to lift her lids. The fear of the unknown sealed her eyes and cast a morbid paralysis over her body. The images of what happened to Mom haunted the nocturnal world behind both lids.

She just knew the other bomb had gone off, it with a shorter fuse. Strong had played a sick game. Beat them.

Gia accepted her fate. She was Aurora and awaited the blast wave—awaited her sunrise.

"Gia!"

It was her Mom's voice.

"So, heaven really does exists," she whispered, smiling.

The falsetto of gunfire erupted and Gia tore open her eyes, gasping for air.

Mom was on both feet, scrambling to get Dad onto his, and pinched a glowing heatsink in her fingers from the shotgun.

"Let go of the wound!" shouted Mom at Gia, prying her glistening fingers from Dad's neck.

Outside of the bank, all hell had broken loose and C-Sec was preoccupied with somebody other than the bank robbers—from them.

Walter had gone to a knee and hovered over Andrea Strong's cadaver. The back of his head was gone, yet the bastard still walked around. Gia could see his brain throbbing, yet more terrifying, it appeared just like any other human brain she has seen in texts books. Brian staggered to his feet and grasped his machine pistol, waddling towards the Heiko family. Brian glared at Walter and saw that their enemy had lost his mind, was of no harm.

"Gia, remember when you cut your finger off?" shouted Mom over the monstrous noise outside.

Gia nodded in a panic and licked her lips.

"I am going to cauterize your Dad's neck with this heatsink, close the wound. I want you to put one knee on each of his wrists, hold him down while I straddle his waist, you got it?" she asked, her voice firm and calm.

Gia's attention shied from Dad's neck as she looked towards the glass doors, over Walter's heaving shoulders. Beyond the threshold of the bank, a firefight had erupted. There was no time to figure out how in the hell that happened. She needed to save Dad.

As her head swung back to her father's attention, his pallid, shaky hand lifted from the gunshot wound. A geyser of blood shot into Gia's face and open mouth. Dad squealed as Mom stuffed the glowing hot heatsink into the wound and applied medi-gel to it. The bleeding stopped almost immediately, but Mom kept the cherry red coil on his neck. Dad's arms almost bucked Gia across the room. He was so powerful.

"Mom, smoke is coming off his goddamn neck!" screamed Gia, leaping off his arms. Dad's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he puked blood and water onto his lap and collapsed into Mom's shoulder.

"How much time do we have?" shouted Mom, lifting Dad to his feet.

Gia ripped her arm up and squinted at the time.

"Five minutes."

"In the dream, there must have been the location of the second bomb. Find it. Brian, help Gia to her feet!" shouted Mom, taking command. Brian's hands flossed Gia's armpits and yanked her to her feet.

"We are both shot," he said. "And I can still stand. Don't pansy out on me last minute Gia," he said, wincing.

This challenge was more potent than the adrenaline her body was drunk off of.

"I need just five goddamn minutes of your time," he said, holding an open hand in front of her face. "Five minutes, then we can both lay down and die. You got that?"

"You will never find it," said Walter, standing, concealing something in his hand. "You won't complete your task," he babbled, tearing off Strong's tac-vest and applying it to his own chest, preparing for another fight. "I will stop you."

Gia jumped and shut her eyes when birdshot _ripped _past her head from the muzzle of Mom's shotgun. Walter was lifted off his feet and thrown to the ground three feet away.

Mom did not hesitate to shoot.

"Now _stay_ down!" shouted Mom. Gia, trembling, stared into Mom's blue facemask. It was a lake of almost half a century that drowned her emotions. Behind that mask, Gia knew she was grimacing from her broken ribs, enraged that both her ex-husband and daughter had been shot by that man.

"Stay down!" shouted Mom once more and racked the pump, holding it at waist level, the blue light on her mouth flickering like a bulb about to burn out.

Light.

Mom's mask.

A blue lake drowning emotions.

"Holy shit!" screamed Gia. "The second bomb. I know where it is!"

Dad's watery eyes blinked, unable to believe his daughter.

Outside the bank, men and women shouted, their attention turned to something more hostile than the five people inside.

"The lake in the dream, it's not the blue street outside King's Bank!" shouted Gia, surprised of her vitality. "Mom, you said there is a lake on the tip of the Zakera ward, right?"

"Yeah. So what are you getting at?" she asked, ducking as stray rounds whistled into the bank through the glass doors and windows.

"Keelah, don't you see it? That's where the bomb is. It is in the lake, right under the very feet of all those people at the Blue Lights concert." She looked to Dad, limped to her assault rifle, picked it up, and used it as a crutch. "They are going to kill everyone there. We have to tell them to open the Citadel arms! If the bombs do go off in an enclosed space, it will surely kill everyone here, even the Council. _Everyone_."

Gia had never felt as alive in her entire life, even if it was the closest to death she had ever been and ever will be.

But then she realized it was all going to end sooner than five minutes.

Behind Brian, Dad, and Mom, Walter arose from the dead once more, eyes almost swollen shut, lips ragged and wet, but his face was covered in arrogance.

"That won't happen," he said, opening a hand and revealing a shimmering blue disk everyone knew as a grenade.

He smiled and laughed as he activated the puck, flicking blood from his mouth.

Gia's senses sharpened and braced for the worst, eyes squinted, shoulders hunched. She was bracing herself to be peppered by hot shrapnel and crushed by the concussion. Then she saw one of the most horrifying yet angelic sights of the day.

A C-Sec vehicle's nose broke through the front of the bank. Glass, like silver coins, shotgunned towards them, the blue and red lights oscillating. Walter spun around and dove to the side, avoiding the cruiser from landing on him. Amidst his dive, Gia watched the grenade go off in his left hand. She had always imagined a grenade would detonate in a fireball like in the movies, but not so. The change in air pressure from the blast crushed her lungs while a brief white cloud coddled Walter, then sucked back in on itself and disappeared. His arm disintegrated down to the elbow and the blast threw him to the polish marble floor. He was motionless, his own body and the C-Sec vehicle taking all the blistering hot shrapnel, sheilding the four of them from being peppered.

The cruiser wobbled to a stop and the driver stumbled out, a salarian C-Sec officer clutching his perforated chest.

Today was Gia's most lucky and unlucky day in her entire life.

"There's our ride! _Get in_," shouted Gia, keeping a close eye on Walter, who stirred to his knees, completely ignoring the new stump the grenade so kindly gave him. He was still alive and kicking, not yet ready to lay down and die. Walter Spinnaker still had life coursing through him and the closer to death he became, the more deadly he was. Even with his head off, he could still bite.

The salarian officer crumpled to the floor and they climbed into the vehicle, Brian last to get in, taking panicked potshots at Walter, hitting him several times.

"Fucker won't go down!" he shouted. "Toby, Gia, it looks like Cerberus and Shadow Broker units are trying to get to you all! They are fighting C-Sec over your dream catching brains!"

Taxing her strength, Gia grabbed Uncle Brian's pants and yanked on them to get inside the vehicle.

"I-I'm going to bleed out," burbled Dad, clearing the blood from his throat. Mom shut the door to the vehicle and reversed into the fray. The boosters on the car kicked up dust and she crashed into more paneled glass. Through the dust, Gia could see a suited silhouette charging the front of the vehicle at full sprint.

"He's running after us!" Gia shouted, grabbing the shotgun from Mom's lap, racking the pump and leaning out the window.

"Get back in here!" shouted Brian, thrashing at her hood to pull her back in. Gia cracked off a shot and watched the blue magnetic vapor trails sail into the Spider's leg. The top of the cruiser scraped against King's Bank as they left the threshold of the building and were now floating above the street. Like yesterday, Walter leaped onto the hood of the car, but slipped off immediately and fell onto the street below.

Gia fished for more heatsinks in her pockets as Mom pulled the car higher. Down on the street, it was chaos. Lights flashed, from both the C-Sec vehicles and from the flickering rifles. Gia counted three different kinds of uniforms, no more than fifteen Cerberus agents and ten Shadow Broker operatives. The CSSR were giving them hell. All of them wanted Gia. Neither knew about the bombs.

Gia had one more heatsink in her pocket. The rest must have spilled from her pockets back in the bank heist. The shotgun had overheated and beeped at its wielder.

Inside the cabin of the vehicle, static electricity arced and snapped off all the metallic interior trim and Gia could even smell something synthetic burning, like pulverized sulfur and hot metal. She pinched the heatsink and was about to eject the white hot one from the breech of the shotgun when the whole car was violently lifted into the air. Gia, without her seatbelt strapped on, crashed into the ceiling of the cruiser. Her arm _banged_ onto the open window and the heatsink twirled out the window towards the ground.

Fire hop scotched from her wound to every nerve ending in her ravaged body. She screamed and felt her wounds begin bleeding again.

"He just hit us with a biotic attack," said Brian. "I know that smell and taste."

"I know a broken engine when I feel one," remarked Mom, trying to regain control of the vehicle. "He hit the engine!"

It was a good thing Mom was a vehicle mechanic on Bekenstein.

"You know what to do, right?" asked Gia through a wheeze. She had bit her tongue when Walter almost annihilated them with the biotic charge. She felt the tip dangling by a slice of skin.

She fought for breath and failed to find the elusive bodily function. Maybe her diaphragm stopped working or had been clipped by a bullet. Mom rolled the window up as they passed the seven meter mark as the atmosphere disintegrated. She gunned the thrusters and stood on the gas. It felt like the turbines had swallowed metal—the turbine blades acting like a blender trying to chew through rebar.

"That isn't normal," said Dad, reacting to the vehicle vibrating to the point where Gia felt it was going to undress itself. Gia realized they were more than halfway to the park when they reached a certain altitude and hit the lines of traffic. It was no more than twenty kilometers away.

"What's the speed of this?" asked Gia, checking her watch.

Four minutes.

"With our engines like this, not fast enough," said Mom, hunched shoulders loosening.

"He's coming for us!" said Dad, carefully turned around staring out the window, riveted on the activity to their six. "Walter has a vehicle!"

Gia glanced at the rearview display and gasped. He was coming right for them in another C-Sec cruiser.

He was not going to stop.

"Step on it!" shouted Brian, bracing for impact. "He will bring us out of the sky!"

She was not sure why her brain brought it up at that very moment, but Gia thought of rocket club back on Bekenstein and the basic laws of physics. Gravity is a rocket's worse enemy, as is atmosphere. Without gravity or atmosphere—in a vacuum, a rocket needs only one pulse to get it going and then it will stay at a constant velocity until it hits something, coming at a rest.

"I can't step on it you bosh'tet! The engine is dying—_is_ dead!" shrieked Mom.

"Let him hit us," said Gia, pulling the seatbelt over her shoulder.

"_What_?"

"Do you want to get to the tip of the Wards? Let him hit us, he will give us acceleration, momentum, and velocity to get all of our toast asses to the tip."

Gia spun around and saw him hurdling towards them, piloting with one arm. He was so close, she was able to see the sparkle in his eye.

Then he hit them.

The passenger side airbag discharged, dusting the interior of the cabin with talcum powder. Gia was crushed by her seatbelt and then slammed forward. All four of them yelped and Gia could feel Walter's thrusters at full thrust.

The two vehicles crumpled and attached. They were now in Walter's control, hurdling towards the glistening lake on the end of the Zakera ward.

Gia grabbed the radio and spoke into it.

"Walter, you are not going to kill us that easily!"

He did not respond. The airline was full of frantic chatter, but it subsided, quieted, submitted by curiosity, all of them knowing who spoke.

Gia clutched at her stomach and wiped the blood off the airbag.

Dad grabbed the walkie from Gia and spoke into it, "This is CSSR Operative Toby Heiko! You must open the Citadel arms in three minutes or we are all dead. There are two nuclear devices planted on the Citadel. That is what the terrorists planted: bombs. Open the arms _now_! This is a Terrorist Threat Code Red. Repeat, Code Red!"

Dad collapsed in the backseat, his voice completely destroyed from the gunshot.

"There will be heavy security detail at the Blue Lights concert," said Brian, face pale. "They will shoot us on sight."

"Aurora, are you there?" asked a man Gia barely recognized as Walter.

"I read you 5x5," she groaned.

"I am proud of you."

Gia cocked her head in confusion and felt the two vehicles dive towards the ground. Enraged by Walter's comment, she threw the walkie at the dashboard and gripped the airbag. Even though the city was consumed by bruised light, Gia caught a glimpse out the window of a bright orange reflection, that reflection surround by a blue orgy of gyrating candles—chem lights from the concert's massive audience and fireworks from the stage.

They were close and Walter was going to drown them in the lake—put Aurora's big fire out with an even bigger bucket of water.

"We are going to hit the water really soon!" said Mom fighting the deployed airbag.

To Gia's genuine surprise, the glow of orange was fought off by light from the Widow. The perimeter of the Ward arms became silvered in natural starlight as the mouth of the beautiful city opened.

"Brace for impact!"

The lake had approached faster than she thought. It was time to either die or live with a miracle.

Gia clenched and the impact of water against the vehicle hit with ruthless vengeance. The seatbelt crushed her chest, her neck bent forward, her chin touching her chest and she pissed on herself once again. Both cruisers caught air and skipped off the water, landing close to the sandy bank. Ripping torrents of water made quick work of the ballistic windshield, rapids laced with shards of glass moving at a crushing velocity into the cabin, filling it quicker than she had imagined. Ice cold water was ladled into her mask and she immediately began choking on it.

It was painful and tranquilizing, yet through hysterical strength, she fought the black tide, unbuckled her seatbelt, and pushed herself out through the front window, but sunk towards the bottom of the lake.

Gia Heiko was not able to swim.

She knew how to after countless hours at the lakes and beaches on Bekenstein with Dad, but she was in no physical shape to do so. She flailed her arms and bucked her legs as the black water hooked and reeled her towards the bottom. A foot scraped the silt bottom and collided with a rock, but the rock moved.

Fate.

For a split second, Gia thought about what Walter had said about his path—how his destiny was laid out for him like an unraveled red carpet, fate waiting at the end with a trophy.

Did Gia have one as well? Did fate, in fact, exist?

Hoping for the best, wishing that she was blessed with dumb luck, Gia blindly groped the bottom of the lake for that rock her foot had clipped. She tore open her eyes having already accepted her demise and found that no rock is a natural rectangle.

They crashed right on top of the goddamn bomb.

_Dumb luck _recited Gia in her head as she grabbed the handle of the briefcase.

She took that back as soon as her brain said it. There was no way she would be able to lift the warhead out of the lake—it was too heavy.

Gia stared up through the water and could see light glittering into the soundless, dark void that was the bottom of the lake, yet she did see something. Ebony angels, darker than the water at the bottom, descended to her, collared in blue, green, and yellow chem-lights. Gia closed her eyes and taxed her lungs, hoping to find a hand to grab onto and a few extra seconds of air.

Dumb luck.

Gia squeezed the hand that grappled hers and was ripped from the water by a three fingered hand much like her own, the grip hardened by wrenches and ratchets.

Gia surfaced and coughed a cocktail of blood and water, eyes blinded by purple starlight.

"I got you, babe," said Nashira, her mother.

Brian splashed into the lake and grabbed both of them with his two colossal arms and bled all over them, his shirt and pants stained pink from the gunshot.

Dad was being dragged to shore by asari, salarians, humans, and one quarian who Gia recognized at the lead singer of Blue Lights.

Then Gia laid eyes on a startling sight of more fans dragging a one armed man out of the smoldering wreckage jutting out of the water.

"Leave him!" screamed Gia, staggering to her feet, lungs and body burning hotter than one-thousands stars. "He will kill us all if you save him!"

Gia threw the briefcase into the grass next to the one Brian was carrying and checked her watch.

Two and a half minutes.

The crowd, ravenous with getting everyone to safety, ignored her heed of caution.

Someone in the crowd shrieked, "_He has a gun_!"

Like a school of fish, the fans strayed backwards as the freak, like a rotweiller out for blood, leaped into the lake and swam towards Gia on the other side.

He was not finished with the four of them just yet. Above, the orange lights that once seeped the city in their nauseating color, dissipated, replaced with the more brutal and bright bluish, purple light of the Widow. Gia fell to her knees and could hear people shouting a good distance away that they were part of C-Sec and to move from their line of sight. The wolves were coming with the alpha male swimming towards Gia.

The crowd was too dense and fought C-Sec's beeline path towards the five of them.

Brian clutched at his pants for his weapon, but it was lost in the impact. A white and blue object to Gia's right lapped against the grass shore.

Her Mom's shotgun.

Gia crawled to it, hoping that the water cooled the broiling heatsink in the chamber. She whimpered, collapsing into the water, her hand wrapping around the handle. She checked the breech and saw the heatsink was glowing brown. She had one shot left before it overheated.

She heard water sputtering on the grass and wet clothes rustling together.

"_Aurora_!" shouted Walter, brandishing his weapon and firing a poorly aimed shot at Gia. As she grabbed the shotgun she shied her face away from the shot and shut her eyes, hearing Walter's bullet splash into the lake. A bullet from the crowd had collided into Walter's knee. The high explosive shot wedged itself between his knee joint and broke his stride. Walter fell to the ground, pressing the muzzle of his pistol into the dirt to brace himself. A man in civilian clothes and a highly modified weapon walked through the parted crowd. The fans were terrified of the enormous armed turian with a red, glowing synthetic eye.

Gia, not wanting to miss the opportunity, spun from her belly to a sitting position, placed a bead on Walter's head and grimacing, fired a shot. Her shotgun exploded in hand and Gia fell to the ground, on her back, panting. She heard the bullets hit Walter in the face.

Gia knew she got him, finally killed Walter Spinnaker. She now faced a new terror emerging from the crowd.

Skave Arterius.

Their family's nemesis.

Gia knew her time was over, so she smiled and made the best of it. As a child, she loved to stare up at the stars. In the summer, after a cool rain batted away the smog and heat, Mom and Dad would drive Gia out into the fields that populated Bekensein to watch the stars. If she were extra lucky, they would go into the mountains. The farther away from civilization, the better for star gazing. Light from the city would not pollute the thick atmosphere and they were able to see the stars clearly, like a bag of diamonds scattered across black felt. Those were Gia's favorite moments in life. She would lay on her Dad's chest and he would grab her hand and point to the constellations that were unique to Bekenstein. Her favorite was Aurora.

Gia lay on her back and stared into the nebulous gas suffocating the Citadel and could see stars burning through the blue curtains. They shined bright, just for her, until a turian with a smoking gun towered over her.

Skave stared down at Gia, replaced a heatsink, his barrel smoking, red eye moving ever so slightly.

Behind Skave, she could hear Dad screaming, voice contorted by broken, ragged flesh, reliving a recurring nightmare.

Skave's mandibles flared, excited, and pointed his pistol at Gia's face.

It was Skave that shot Walter in the knee, bringing him down, forcing him to miss a shot that surely would have crashed into Gia's face.

Skave, the very person Gia was trained to fight and defend herself from, was in fact, their savior, and destroyer.

He pointed his pistol at Gia's face, fully able to see the woman behind the veil.

Gia smirked at him.

Again, his mandibles flared and stayed open, revealing his stiletto packed jaws.

"You won't miss from this range," said Gia, gunning his robotic eye down with glares of courage and bravery. The cyclopean stare of the pistol did not scare her one bit and Skave realized that.

"Gia?" he asked, voice gravely and baritone. "You just killed the most deadly thing in the galaxy. That makes you the most deadly predator. I can honor that."

"I'm not a predator. I'm a fighter, a survivor."

Through a turian smirk, Skave holstered his pistol and held out a hand. Gia took it. Warships outside the Citadel closed in, the Destiny Ascension with her four blue dorsal fins turned its mighty hull to face the sharpened lips of the Citadel.

"He's not here to kill us!" shouted Gia, still baffled at her untapped energy. Her three guardians stopped from a full sprint, Dad pressing Walter's handgun against the back of Skave's head, the barrel clotted with dirt and grass.

"I'm not here to kill you. I was here to kill Walter Spinnaker," grumbled Skave, still staring into Gia's exposed face.

"Brian, call Mr. Burns for an immediate pickup. We are down to the wire!" said Nashira, clasping onto a river rock, ready to bludgeon their old hunter to death if need be.

Skave turned to Dad and looked down at Toby. He realized the man before him was still ready for a fight even though he got shot right through the neck.

"I have something for you," said Skave, reaching into his pocket. Dad took an isosceles shooting stance, ready to drop Skave at a moment's notice. Gia watched a silvered watch being plucked from his pocket.

"Take it, Heiko," growled Skave. "It's yours."

Dad held out his hand and clasped a watch identical to Gia's. She did not understand what was going on. Skave nodded and disappeared into the crowd as the high-pitched roar of propulsion engines rippled through the crowd. The _SSV Aurora _landed on the grass, blowing bits of dirt and vegetation into the crowd. They dissipated quickly.

Gia shot a hurried glance at her watch.

_One minute._

Mr. Burns stepped out of the hatch and shouted at them, "This is highly illegal. I am going to get arrested for this!"

When he finished his sentence, a shot shrieked off the door, then a second one landed on target, clipping Mr. Burns' hand.

"Hold your fire!" shouted Gia, limping towards Mr. Burns. She could see his detached fingers fanned out in the grass. Mr. Burns was tackled by C-Sec officers and handcuffed. Frantic, Gia waddled to the trigger happy officer and pounded his back, yelling at him to stop.

"We have to move!" said Brian, carrying both briefcases. "We have to use the _SSV Aurora_ to get these bombs off the Citadel!"

"Bomb?" asked an officer, reeling towards Brian with a hand on his stun stick. Brian gasped and went to a knee, unclipping a briefcase. The radioactive symbol got the human man's attention. "_Whoa, shit_! Are those real?" he asked.

"In sixty seconds, they are going to become pretty damn real!" said Brian, under handing them on board over the screaming, writhing body of Mr. Burns.

"You blew my hand off you idiot!" he shouted, his steel wool mustache buried in the grass. "I cannot pilot the ship! You just killed us all!"

Toby threw Brian Walter's handgun which he jammed in the officer's mouth. It was hot against his pallet. The officer was determined to stop the "terrorists" and earn a promotion, impress his boss.

"I will kill you to save trillions," said Brian with a deadpan stare, eyes cold cinders and dead. "Don't think I won't."

The officer back off.

The crowd was silent.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

The city roared with life.

"Burns," said Brian, "Set the autopilot and get these two things the _hell _off this station."

"Brian," said Mr. Burns, "Th-the autopilot…"

"It's broken," whispered Gia, slowly sitting on the grass.

Brian frowned and nodded his head. With a bloodstained hand, he reached into his pocket and slowly brought out the picture Andrea Strong gave him—the image of Pira and him at the CSSR annual picnic. A single tear rolled down his face.

"_Brian_…" said Dad slowly. "Don't you dare think about it. Don't you dare do it."

"Thirty seconds," said Gia lifting her head. She recoiled and cursed under her breath when she saw Uncle Brian back towards the hatch of the _Aurora_. Both bombs were on board. The autopilot was not functioning. Thirty seconds left.

Then it clicked.

_Keelah, he was going to kill himself. Sacrifice one for many._

"I have to," he said.

Toby took a step towards Brian, but his best friend aimed the sidearm towards Gia's Dad.

"Brian," whispered Nashira, stepping towards her long time friend.

"I never did get to see your face," smirked Brian. "Hell, if you look half as good as Gia, well…" he shrugged.

"Brian, you're a good man. You won't be forgotten," said Dad, both eyes swollen.

"At least I get to go out with a bang," he chortled.

Brian closed the hatch and started the engines. Dad whimpered and Mom helped him down next to Gia. Dad grabbed her left hand as they watched Brian fly the _Aurora_ out of the station. She checked her watch.

_Nineteen seconds._

Two, three fingered hands rubbed Gia's shoulders. It was the lead singer of Blue Lights.

"You kicked ass, girl," she said into Gia's ear.

The C-Sec officer called in an order to Citadel Command to let all warships know not to fire on the _SSV Aurora _and to stand clear. Luckily, between the com-chatter of the mini ground war being waged, the ordered was issued.

The ship was a yellow dot in the sky, thrusters at full boost, and he disappeared behind a gossamer cloud of dust.

_Ten seconds._

Gia's throat closed shut with a mixture of rage and sadness, gripping Dad's hand. He was pale and cold, then collapsed into Mom's lap.

Going into shock?

Dead?

Bled out?

Gia did not know.

Dark shadows mottled her vision, each pinprick of black spreading like ink in water. The nuclear blast was enormous in the distance and it shook the station, though it was eerily silent.

"Toby!" screamed Mom, shaking Dad's pale arm. "_Toby_!"

Faces flashed in Gia's memory.

Norry.

Mango.

Bernie.

Fireneck.

One Thumb.

Pira.

Harris.

_Brian._

"I think," she whispered over Mom's desperate screams. "I think I am going to die."

The reality hit her hard. Gia's vision left, yet her emotions swelled. She closed both eyes and tried not to cry.

Gia fought to stay awake knowing full well that if she fell asleep or blacked out again, she would die. Even though she accepted the Citadel as her tomb, she was going to go out kicking and screaming until the darkness grabbed Gia by the scruff of her neck and dragged her into the sickly black void. Her parents were separated and an E.M.T battled Gia, lightly tapping her face to keep her patient awake.

The asari's female presence was comforting.

This woman was going to keep Gia safe.

She coughed and blood pooled in her eye wells. Her suit was destroyed and had stopped working. A fever thrashed at her ruthlessly, the gelled layer in the suit peeling off against her sweat slick skin, her body shedding it like snake skin. Blood from her gunshot had seeped towards her feet and flooded her leg compartments.

It was warm and sticky.

The suit continued to _suck _away from Gia's skin, going from her feet, calves, thighs, and waist.

Gia trembled.

She wanted Mom.

She wanted Dad.

Her sight was going away, fading to black, being devoured by bacteria from the lake water brushing against her unprotected ocular flesh. Gia knew she was going to lose her eyesight when she searched for the briefcase.

Her lungs were beginning to slow as the ambulance reached the hospital. Before her vision evaporated, she was able to see the fog clouded words Huerta Memorial Hospital.

They were in the Presidium from what she could tell. The light was like that of Bekenstein—natural and unfiltered by the Widow Nebula. Gia closed her eyes for a moment and was unable to reopen them—puss from her infection acting like an adhesive, sealing Gia off from the rest of the world, binding her with darkness.

She was closer to heading out.

Section by section, her suit was peeling away—her body shutting down.

"Keep your eyes open, baby," said a voice different from the asari E.M.T.

A gloved hand pried open Gia's eyelid and she stared at Mom.

No, not Mom.

A quarian dressed in white. Her suit was subtly laced in green. It was a quarian doctor and she was on the Citadel. If Gia had a chance at living, it was now. She was in the best hands.

"She's going to lose her sight if we don't act quickly," said the filtered doctor's voice.

Gia could feel herself being rolled through hallways of the hospital and orders being tossed around like a hot grenade.

Brian had saved them all from annihilation with his act of heroic altruism. Gia had seen the way he stared at the picture Andrea Strong threw to him. It hurt to see her uncle eviscerated like that. How could one man yield such destruction?

No, Walter was no man. Gia failed to see how people could create such an atrocity of the likes of Walter. Gia genuinely thought Walter Spinnaker was a man. In his eyes, she saw endearment, love, mystery, wonder, character, personality, and a soul.

"_Keelah_," barked Gia, spitting flecks of blood into the air, sprinkling the doctor's pearly white cloths with the blood filling her lungs. The coagulant and medi-gel had not done enough to halt the wound from getting worse. The lake water had entered her body through her mouth, eyes, ears, nose, and bullet wound.

"She's about to enter septic shock," said the doctor. "Her body is systemically shutting itself down!"

Gia held her eyes open and gripped the dolly's aluminum handrail with anticipation for the worst.

There was more shouting coming from Gia's right.

Another dolly with a wet, bloodied figure splayed out on it.

"Dad?" gasped Gia when the dolly came closer.

"He's still alive!" shouted a doctor. "I cannot believe it! We have to get him into the E.R. _immediately_!"

The dolly being pushed by two pallid faced nurses spun next to Gia and she could see who was in laying on it.

It was Walter.

Gia screamed as she saw his decapitated skull swivel on the stained pillow and glare at her with his two miraculous blue eyes.

"He's suffered two gunshot wounds to the head and many more to the body," shouted a nurse. Between Walter's legs on the dolly was a clear plastic container holding the bottom half of his leg that was blown off by Skave.

"_Don't save him,_" whispered Gia, not loud enough to be heard over the frantic chatter. "_Don't save him_."

"Somehow he's stabilizing," said a nurse, checking her omni-tool. "He's getting better!"

With his only good arm, Walter reached out to Gia, moaning and writhing, and grasped the railing of her dolly, still containing insurmountable strength. Gia, unable to move, stared at his pale, deathly form from behind cataracts and screamed internally. He pulled the two dollies together until the nurses fought off his grip and rushed him down the hall.

"Her heart rate is accelerating. 170 beats per minutes. We must calm her before she works herself to death," said the doctor. The hospital was filling with desperate people, all wounded from gunshots. Hysteria spread among the doctors and patrons. Gia could see blue satellites on dollies from C-Sec, Cerberus agents, and black body bags.

All of this hematic destruction was because of her—all of these people were after the eight pounds of gray matter encased in Gia's skull. It's considered the most destructive and almighty weapon in the galaxy. She is worth trillions of credits and in the eyes of a politician is the next big thing other than lies and deceit. She can be manipulated to do terrible things if under the wrong hands.

She blacked out once more.

Dreams of long, drawn out agony violated her. She felt at a loss, everything taken from her and sliced to ribbons.

It was taunting.

The images flashed, emotions bulged, body thrashed, an all consuming Freudian confusion ravaged and gorged.

Balmy water sloshed, slowly boiling, bubbling, peeling skin and blistering.

"We need to cut open her suit," said the quarian doctor, Gia returning to the land of the living. "And for pity's sake, cut the handcuffs off this poor girl!"

Gia was marinating in bodily juices, stewing in sickly sweat. Her heart stammered and she quaked, cold on the outside, scolding on the inside.

Many doctors wrestled with her suit, attacking it with aircraft grade metal clippers and torches. The three doctors were now wearing haz-mat suits and respirators. Plastic curtains wreathed the room, fans whirred, and Gia could smell hot metal. It was her blood.

"We are losing her!" shouted a doctor.

Gia rested her eyes, unable to keep conscious—accepting her fate. She was in the hands of the doctors now and it would take a miracle to keep her from tumbling into the unknown.

"Don't let him live," she whispered under her respirator and let the monster in her body devour everything.

**Nine Months Later**

**Huerta Memorial Hospital **

Gia surreptitiously scratched at her eyes. Doctor Nea requested her not to do so, but her skin itched something fierce.

It was becoming goddamn annoying.

"This is driving me crazy," she said to herself, working the ornery itch with her palm.

Light from the windows gently graced every surface. It was morning in the Presidium and the artificial light was pale, warming into a sunrise, a yolk on the horizon, rising into a molten disk of copper.

"Aurora," she whispered, greeting the sun for what seemed to be ages since she last saw it. Three of the room's walls were glass, but she did not feel her privacy was violated as such. It had been ages since she was able to see the Presidium. She loved every waking moment.

This was the first day she could see with her own eyes.

On the wall in front of her bed, she saw a suit, orange cloths serpentine around the hardened shell.

It was new, just for her. Gia's old one was tight around her hips and chest, coupled with its threadbare qualities and pocked full of bullet holes from her encounter with Walter.

The last time she saw him, Walter was still alive, fighting death, defying everything that was thrown at him, even supersonic buckshot.

Gia gasped, ecstatic and closed her eyes, smiling. She wanted to put on her new suit hanging on the wall before the foot of her bed. The angel on her left shoulder plucked its harp.

Today was the day that Gia had been waiting for. Chilled, Gia pulled the hospital blankets under her chin and relaxed in the bed that had been her home for the last nine months. For seven of those months, she had been in a coma. During that time, Doctor Nea, the only quarian doctor on the Citadel, had been making damn sure she did not lose her patient. For nine months, Gia had not seen anything but a blanket of black. Yes, she had been conscious for two months, but they were waiting for the nerves of her old eyes to bond to the new ones since her original eyes were destroyed from the pond water. She had not been able to see up until several days ago. It was not the darkness that you see when looking out the window at night, or turn off the lights before you go to sleep.

No.

It was anything but.

Her surroundings were a figment of her imagination and Gia admitted her imagination had been running amok. Images of Walter in pursuit would wake her up at night. Images of Dad bleeding out on King's Bank floor flashed and gripped at her. Mom's face, smiling; the Citadel the backdrop.

Gia lips were dry, but stitched up and healthy. She felt the tip of her tongue was gone after biting it off right after they flew away from King's Bank. She had been concealed from the galaxy and only had her own thoughts as company for the past two months while her "eyes" recovered.

She had been dreaming, able to tame and leash her truly remarkable and special gift.

During Walter's blitz, she remembered telling herself that her ability to see the future through dreams, experience life through other's eyes, was not a gift, but a black curse.

In fact, sitting in the darkness had been the best moments of her life. She had been seeing… _living _through her father who had survived despite the gunshot wound in his neck. She was able to manipulate when and who she could see into when sleeping—when dreaming. She had tasted food, felt love, and understood the emotions of a kiss.

Gia's hand curled into a fist and she released it.

In her room, she had not been in a suit. She wore light, white hospital garb and was barely able to walk. Physical therapy would begin soon to build up her muscles. It would be painful, but Gia had felt worse.

She smirked.

Her whole life, save for a hospital visit many years ago when she got an infection, she had been encased—trapped in a suit. The feel of a softly whirring fan blowing a breeze was sensational. It was as gentle as a mother's kiss, as cool as a damp towel over a fevered brow.

For the first time since she passed out at the Blue Lights concert on the tip of the Citadel, Gia was allowed to see her parents and she was going to be able to forgive her father—say, "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry."

For four years, everyone around him had misunderstood what he had done. He was in fact telling the truth. The doctor that Gia and Mom thought Dad had an affair with actually manipulated him. Walter even said the same thing happened to him in Hubris. It was not Dad's fault. He was her puppet. She had tuned his brain to turn against his family and steered his altruism towards a spiraling selfishness.

He was innocent.

Life was perfect at this very moment. Anticipation shivered through her whole body. Yes, it was a good shiver, but there was still one thing that stuck out—one last piece of the puzzle that was missing. Walter had mentioned there was a fourth Dreamcatcher who was impenetrable, who could not display sight and could not be cracked and invaded. He mentioned metallic clacks and that was all he could get out of the unknown fourth. It had bothered Gia and through her cognitive travels, she made it her one goal to figure out who it was. He was still out there, unknown to everyone.

In her hand, she had a note; a piece of paper with writing on it. Since the first day she woke from her coma two months ago, she felt the note in her hand, but had been unable to read it with her eyes still healing and bandages shielding her from the note's truth. She teased herself about reading it; daydreamed over what it contained. Even Dr. Nea asked if she could read it aloud to Gia, but she refused, wanting to read it with her own eyes. She wondered who it came from and what it said. Anticipation makes the reveal sweeter. As this was the first day she could see, she felt it was time to read it.

Enough of the teasing.

A door opened in the room and shut, ripping Gia's attention away from the note in her hand.

Gia grabbed her sheets and pulled them down, sat up in bed and aimed her head towards the door.

Her muscles screamed, but she was expecting to see her parents for the first time.

"Hello?" she called out.

"Gia."

Gia Heiko gasped, the voice familiar—one in a million.

"Chef Athena?"

"It's me. I thought I would pay you a visit."

Gia heard footsteps and a chair dragged to her bedside. Chef Athena wore her kitchen fatigues. It confused Gia why she came here dressed that way.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Where are my parents?" she asked, perplexed.

"They are waiting outside to see you," said Chef.

"Why are you not wearing a respirator in here. You can get me sick!"

"I'm just checking in," she responded, voice as harsh as it always has been. "It's safe, don't worry."

"Do you believe what happened? I'm not the bad person here," said Gia. "I did not want Bernie to die in the restaurant. I never asked for that. I am so sorry, Chef," whispered Gia, voice quivering with the fragility of thinly spun glass.

"My dear, it's not your fault."

"I…" she sighed. "Deep inside," said Gia, her fist beating against her chest, "I feel like it is."

Chef and Gia sat in silence. Behind Chef's dark sunglasses and tempered smile, Gia sensed she was the bearer of bad news. Her face was worn, creased with years of hard labor, smile twisted crooked by her demented personality of slaving herself over the opinions of others' taste buds. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled into a ponytail, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

_Darkness._

_Sunglasses._

"Keelah, Chef, you are the last Dreamcatcher," sighed Gia, almost passing out.

She and Bernie always speculated on why Chef wore them indoors.

She was blind.

The impenetrable blackness Walter spoke of.

Athena cannot see, but her hearing is near perfect.

Gia shook her head and remembered Walter also speaking about the metallic noises coming from the unknown fourth. She used sound to get around the 21 Hour Diner's kitchen by hitting surfaces with her spatula.

"Walter passed away this morning," said Chef.

"Keelah, he has been alive all this time?" she asked, her voice stronger than she expected.

How had Walter been alive for nine months in such condition? In fact, how did he not die after she shot him in the face? They made the Spiders tough. They were not supposed to go down without a fight.

Walter was special.

He must have been under armed guard the entire time he was in the hospital, or did they believe his story? Did they believe that he was the righteous one and the Heikos were still terrorists? Was Gia, in fact, being guarded?

Something inside told her she was prized outside of this hospital room. She did not know where that thought came from, but she trusted it.

"Yes, he has been alive all this time. He is a fighter. Always has been."

She spoke of him like she knew him; was friends with him.

"Chef, what the hell are you talking about?" asked Gia, gripping the blankets.

"I recruited him after what I saw what he was capable of. Dreamcatchers had to be contained if they discovered something that was to be left undiscovered. Ruthless, yes. Necessary? Absolutely. Without Spiders, we could be compelled to do monstrous things."

Bewildered at what Chef was saying, Gia spat, "H-how did he finally die?"

"I gave him permission. He was set out to kill four Dreamcatchers. You, your dad, me, and himself. We cannot live, for the power we possess is like that of the Ardat-Yakshi. We have to be contained or we could become autocrats, dictators, ruthless rulers."

Another wild conclusion dawned on Gia.

No.

Impossible.

She would never do such a thing.

"Chef?"

"Yes, Gia?"

"Are you the head of the Dreamcatchers? I know Harris and Julia Liebermann were the co-leaders. There was someone at the head of it all. Was that you?"

"I knew you'd figure it out. You have always been such a smart girl."

Gia closed her mouth and pawed at her face.

"How could you do such a thing?"

"Do what?" asked Chef.

"You became the very thing you wished to avoid. W-why… why did you lock Walter in Hubris?" she asked, voice almost sympathetic, figuring it all out.

She heard Chef lean back in her chair and sigh. Her voice was so clear, impervious to imperfection.

"The way that boy began using his gift had the potential to ruin everything we hold close and cherish. He was no human. He was a purpose built machine. How could a machine achieve everything a human could and beyond? How did he become a Dreamcatcher? How did he begin believing in a higher power? How did he develop love? I did not want to bring light to it, so I gave him a business opportunity to join the S.P.I. after he passed his prime of two years of being active in the field. He was an aging machine, but I wanted to give him another chance; I wanted to study him. I wandered into his brain occasionally and began seeing it develop towards evil. I nipped him in the bud before he was able to do anything serious and placed him into Hubris. He was unlike the other Spiders. He was special. He kept thinking there, his evil refining into something that could not be contained, but needed to. I punished him. Walter was wrong, but I saw that Walter, that… _thing _had the capability to do no good."

"I don't even know what to say," whispered Gia.

"Then don't say anything."

Gia understood Chef's intentions, yet didn't. She hated her for her actions, wanted to punch her with her useless, shriveled arms.

"Was I some sort of test subject for you?"

"I fixed your destiny, Gia. I found you and planted the idea in your head to begin cooking at an early age. You always thought your dad gave you the idea of it, but no. That was me. It was in your path to get a job at the 21 Hour Diner so I could watch you. Protect you."

Gia turned her head away from Chef. She was too ill to continue looking at that monster.

"I'm still a better cook than most people," she gloated under her breath. "That was all me."

"It was indeed. Gia, you are a wonderful cook," said Athena, her voice calming.

"Please tell me I am not a criminal anymore. All those people I killed, our intentions, have they been dismissed?" Gia asked, too weary to speak.

"You're a hero."

Gia laughed, "Bullshit."

"I'm telling the truth," breathed Athena, a smile erupting over her face.

Gia had to face the fact that Athena had to do what had to be done.

"What happens to me? Are more Spiders going to come for me?"

Athena leaned back in her chair and truthfully said, "I don't know. I think you killed all of them."

"You say that like it was easy," said Gia, swiping a wisp of hair away from her grinning face.

"What was that in your hand?" asked Athena.

"Huh?" shrugged Gia, opening her hand. "Oh, the note?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. Let's see here," said Gia, laying on her back. Her spine popped and she sighed; it felt sensational. Gia stretched her arms in the air and squinted to read it. It was a quote labeled to her which she read aloud: "_These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and the thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not so easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph._ __ Thomas Paine."_

Gia set the note on her heaving chest.

"I don't get the context."

Athena sighed, that face of anticipation swelling.

"It was from Walter."

Gia almost wanted to throw it across the room. Why would Walter write to Gia on his deathbed? She was the one who put him there in the first place.

Gia cursed and sighed, pissed and depressed that this mysterious note she had been dreaming about for months was from Walter, her enemy.

She then thought about the words and their meaning. He had made peace with Gia, the sunshine patriot.

"You have fought so hard, so bravely, Gia. I have been a coward. You deserve to prosper while I deserve to die."

"I... what are you talking about?" groaned Gia.

Chef placed a hand on Gia's thigh.

"I must tell you something, Gia. You might not like it."

Suddenly, Gia felt like she was trapped in a nightmare. A nightmare at first, but then, it became a dream of infinite possibilities.

Toby paced in the decontamination waiting room, anxious to see his daughter. Every conceivable precaution had been taken for when he was going to see Gia in the flesh for the second time in his life. Toby had been steam cleaned and wore a plastic gown and a white mask.

The door behind him opened and his wife, Nashira, stepped out from beyond the actual decontamination room, her voluptuous figure draped in the same plastic gown he wore. It had been five years since he had seen his wife's face in person, but every week, in his dreams, he watched her smile at him from when times were normal, before chaos bulldozed its way into their lives.

"Nash," gasped Toby. He offered his wife a hand and with a smile, she took it. Her three fingers slid into his hand and she gripped.

"She might be awake," hissed Nash, her eyes shining bright with hope. "I hope she is awake. I really _hope_."

Behind Nashira stepped Doctor Nea, the quarian doctor that had been nursing Gia for six months.

"Are you two ready?" asked the doctor, stripping off her environment suit, dressed the same as Mr. and Mrs. Heiko. She held a holographic notepad against her chest and greeted them with a hopeful toothy smile.

"Nash, are you ready?" asked Toby.

Nashira's grip hardened and she sucked in air, wiping a tear off her cheekbone.

"Yes."

Doctor Nea opened the door and it hissed.

Toby jumped from the sudden sound and gush of air.

On the bed was his daughter. Toby's knees felt weak, his breath knocked right from his lungs.

"_My baby_," he whispered.

Nashira's face melted and she pinched both eyes, sobbing.

"She's not awake," whispered Nashira.

Toby's arms snaked around her waist as he helped her into a chair next to Gia's bed.

"Your parents are here, Gia," said the Dr. Nea in a cool voice. "Mom, Dad, tell her 'hi'."

"Hi there, Gia," shook Dad, letting his wife take a seat in the chair.

Gia did not stir. She was passed out.

In a coma still.

Sleeping.

Dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

"Gia is still under the coma's complete control," said the doctor. "But her life signs are great. She is healthy and doing well. Her cybernetic and synthetic implants are looking green across the board. She's healing up nicely. I have never seen a patient fight as hard and as long as she. Gia's a special girl, even more so for her heroic actions before she came to me."

"My god," sighed Dad. "She looks just like you, Nash."

Toby stepped over his daughter and brushed an obsidian strand of hair to the side of Gia's face.

"Toby, you can take off her bandages," said Dr. Nea softly, pointing a long finger at Gia's face. "Her eyes are not quite healed, but some fresh air on her face will be good."

"Do they still glow?" asked Nash, leaning out of her chair.

"It took some expensive research, but yes, we figured out how to make them glow. She can change their colors as well. I think she will like that."

Nashira laughed and bit her nails.

"She'll like that. Orange will probably be her color of choice. She never really liked white."

"It's really cool tech. I wish I could change my eye color on a whim. Gia is a lucky girl," said Dr. Nea from behind her data pad.

Toby's hands were stricken with tremors as he reached the back of Gia's head.

"She smells like strawberries," whispered Dad.

"We wash her with scented shampoo," said Dr. Nea, fighting a riptide of pity from her face.

"I cannot stop shaking," chuffed Toby.

Nashira sniffled and stood, placing her warm hands on top of Toby's, soothing his. Both of them unwrapped the bandage and Toby watched the curtain fall away, revealing his daughter's face.

She lay there, skin lavender, lips full, the corners tilting upwards, involuntarily smiling. He always imagined Gia frowning. Her eye brows were thin, turned upwards. She wore a white t-shirt, but Toby could see her collar bones sticking through the fabric.

"She has always been skinny, even in the suit," said Nash, putting her head into Toby's neck.

"She looks so fragile."

"Toby, she actually isn't that fragile," said Dr. Nea. "I have never had a more brave, stubborn patient in my entire career, as I stated earlier. Any other quarian would have died, but Gia, she fought to no end." Dr. Nea pointed at Gia's sleeping form, her chest slowly rising and falling, sound asleep. "That girl is a fighter. We had to replace her eyes, lungs, trachea, and stomach, and a lot of other organs."

"She is part synthetic?" asked Nashira.

"Partly. We grew the organs from a three-dimensional printer. There are a couple of synthetic parts, but she is flesh and bone. It saved her life." Dr. Nea pointed to her omni-tool. "She is more healthy than she was before. She was an alcoholic, yes?"

"She was," admitted Nashira, sniffling.

"Her liver looked like an eighty-year-old's. It was pickled."

"This is the new Gia," said Nash. "How… we cannot pay for this. All of this is going to be expensive."

"There is a special someone looking after you—covering the bills."

"Who?" asked Toby.

"I don't know. She is a human and sounds like she has smoked cigarettes everyday of her life," shrugged Dr. Nea.

Toby knew exactly who was helping them, but why would she do that? Why is Gia so special to her?

"I will let you two have some time with her alone. I will be right behind you in the preparation room if you need me. Oh, I forgot to mention, Walter Spinnaker is still alive. They say he has three months to live. His situation is dissolving."

Toby and Nashira let out a sigh of relief.

"I have never seen anyone like him," admitted the doctor. "I know he was a monster, but it is worth mentioning he was perfectly stable yesterday, but today they said he began worsening. After Gia had shot out his voice box, he couldn't speak, but he… well, he wrote this note. It's labeled to Gia."

The quarian doctor handed a piece of paper to Toby.

"It's addressed to Gia," said Toby, shooting a glance away from the letter towards Dr. Nea.

"So he is dying?" asked Nashira, cocking her head to the left.

Dr. Nea hunched her shoulders and said, "I will be in the back if you need me."

Toby turned back to Gia and touched her lips with his finger.

"She's so beautiful, Nash.

"I know."

Nashira wrapped her arms around Toby's neck and kissed his cheek.

"Will she ever wake?"

"Nash, I really hope so. I really do."

From behind, Dr. Nea peeked around the corner and said, "Excuse me? I really want to show you something beautiful."

Dr. Nea tapped on her omni-tool and the wall in front of Gia flourished to life. It was a picture of Gia's brain.

"I ran this scan not seconds ago," said Dr. Nea. "Look here, there is activity in her brain like she is holding a conversation."

Toby gasped and lightly grabbed Gia's hand, comforting through her stupor.

"It's like she is dreaming—her brain fully functional."

Toby pulled his glance away from the picture and grated his teeth, eyes slim with curiosity and befuddlement.

"It's really weird," said Toby, more to himself. "Over the past six months, it's like…" He laughed and nervously ran a hand through his hair, chewing on his tongue. "It's like she is inside me—with me. I don't really know how to explain it."

"I'll leave you two alone," said Dr. Nea, disappearing behind a door.

"What are you talking about?" asked Nashira, gripping his hand.

"It's not like Brian. I know he is dead and the only thing I have are memories of him. Gia though, I feel like she is alive, in my head."

"Didn't you say Dreamcatchers can experience life through others?" asked Nash.

"Yeah, I did. Gia experienced Walter decimating his family like she was there."

"Do you think Gia is living through yourself?"

"I guess so."

"That picture we saw was of her brain. It was brimming with activity," said Nash, wiping a tear off her face, voice growing stronger, more confident.

"She must be with me right now, seeing what I am seeing, feeling what I am feeling."

Toby looked to Nashira and chuckled.

"It's funny," he said, not knowing where these words were coming from. "I thought being able to see the future was a curse, but now it's a gift." He looked to the floor then back to his wife. "Nash?"

"Yes?"

"She is doing it. She is living through me as we speak."

Nashira gasped and gripped Gia's dainty hand.

"We should tell her what has happened—what she missed in the past six months."

Toby pulled up a chair and sat opposite of Nashira, grabbing Gia's hand. It was warm and soft, never touching anything other than the gel layer in her suit. Gia's grip was limp, but her fingers flexed. Toby did not know if it was involuntary motion or Gia reaching out and telling them she was okay.

"Gia, I hope you can hear this," started Dad. "Yes, you did it. It's not some nightmare you were trapped in, but reality. You saved us all from dying. You figured out the puzzle. You are the hero. The Council and galactic population recognized that and they praise us—_you_. Everything you did, all the people you… well, you know. All the charges have been dropped, ripped apart, and thrown away. You are a goddess to billions of people. Even your face is plastered over the media. The anchor that we all hated back on Bekenstein, he got fired."

"Serves him right," spat Nash.

Toby laughed and patted the back of Gia's hand, played with her veins and continued talking to his daughter. "Uncle Brian is held in high regards as a hero. He had a proper funeral. All of C-Sec showed up. Everyone who took part in Operation Deception have been arrested, including Commander Konami, the asari with the scary voice," chuckled Dad. He stood from his chair and slipped into bed, holding Gia tight.

"Walter is dying and Andrea Strong is a headless corpse. Everyone knew what she did. Pira also got a proper funeral. They cremated her body and spread her ashes on the same spot where Brian departed on the _Aurora_. Their dust is intermingled in the Widow Nebula."

Toby paused and shut his eyes, pressing his daughter's head into his chest.

"Nash," he whispered. "Her heart is _strong_."

"I know."

"Her hair is soft and as black as yours."

She nodded.

Dad rubbed her hand. "When you were a kid, you loved this." He gently pulled on her fingers, popping her knuckles one by one. "_You loved this_."

Dr. Nea came out from the preparation room and leaned against the wall.

"She likes that," said Dr. Nea. "You are releasing endorphins. Her brain is active."

Toby softly chuffed.

"Everything is back to normal," said Toby. "Someone is even writing a book about what happened to us ten years ago. It has been brought to life and I am a free man now, Gia. We are free. The watch Skave gave me was mine that he took ten years ago. I guess it was a peace offering after he shot Walter—blew his leg off. I don't think we will be seeing him anymore. We are safe. Everyone is safe."

Toby cradled Gia, rocking her back and forth.

"She looks like she is just asleep," said Nash.

"I know. It's beautiful. She is not in any pain. Just… sleeping. I meant to tell you, Gia, that you got accepted into the Thessian culinary arts program. If what… I am _feeling_ is true, if you really are able to live through me, I promise you, Gia, I will get into that academy and I will cook and taste and eat for you. As long as you are sleeping, I want to live life to the fullest. I want you to experience what it is like for a quarian to live without her suit."

"Baby," said Nashira. "We bought you a new suit as well. It's orange, just like your old one. If… _when_ you wake up, we want you to be ready to jump right back into life," said Nashira, rubbing her daughter's bare feet. "Dr. Nea, the suit is in the decontamination room. I'd love to hang it up on the wall in front of the bed so when she wakes, she will see it. Would that be okay?"

"Of course."

"_Thank you_."

Nash rubbed her red eyes and whispered, "Can you read Walter's note?"

"I should throw it away," growled Dad, eyes shut, still rocking his baby.

"Please, Toby, read it. I want closure. I want to make sure this ends."

Toby slipped the piece of paper out of his fist and unfolded it. Toby read it silently to himself, lips moving softly, eyes shutting with emotion.

He read, "_These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and the thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not so easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.__ Thomas Paine."

Toby folded the note and stuffed it in Gia's hand. She deserved to read it when she woke.

"Do you think she will wake?" asked Nashira, kissing her daughter's hand.

"No," said Toby. Words from deep inside swelled and he let them spew, "I don't _think _she will, I _know_ she will."

**I really should have written something meaningful at the end, and I will once I have some free time from class. I will post a heartfelt note as one last chapter since this will probably be the last you hear of me on fanfiction. Stay tuned! A year and half of work is over.**


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